Uther Pendragon's Guide to Handling Reincarnation
by Itar94
Summary: [Future fic, AU, mpreg, Merthur SLASH.] One moment, Uther Pendragon is very sure that – yes, he's dead, and the next – well, then he's not that very dead anymore. Camelot is a slightly different place than what he's remembered. Take the sorcerers roaming the city for one. Not to mention the dragons ... And what's all this talk about babies!
1. How to Handle the Arrival

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**Uther Pendragon's Guide to Handling Reincarnation**

or

**The Unexpected Life ****of George the Servant**

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_**Author's note**__: Hello dear readers! So, I said I wouldn't start any new stories until I've finished "I am the Embers of Your Fire", didn't I? Well ... that plan backfired. Badly so. I'm so, so sorry. (But I regret nothing!) Humour and/or crack!fics seem to attract a bigger audience anyways and I just had to get this one out of my system. I hope the characters remain in-character, because Uther is very difficult to write! __I can't tell yet how long this story will be, but it'll definitely have more than 5 chapters._

_**Pairings: **Arthur/Merlin; some background pairings including Lancelot/Gwen._

_**Warnings**__: some language, slash, __mpreg__, some violence, crack!ish (at least partly but there's some more serious stuff as well)._

_**Rating**__: T (for now)_

_This will contain spoilers for series **1-4** (eventually season **5 **when I get time to catch up) but a lot of scenarios are still AU. Just a note: while there will be and has not been any Arthur/Gwen, the story still implies a lot of canon has happened. So Morgana is evil and lurking in the woods somewhere. Yes, she will probably __play a part in this. Also for people who don't like OCs...I'm afraid there are some of them here, because of the mpreg; but the only OCs with major roles are the Merthur kids. So I hope that won't bother anyone. Hmm, anything else ... I think the basics are covered. Now on with the story!_

_**Summary**__: [Future fic, AU, mpreg, Merthur SLASH.] One moment, Uther Pendragon is very sure that – yes, he's dead, and the next – well, then he's not that very dead anymore. Camelot is a slightly different place than what he's remembered. Take the sorcerers roaming the city for one. Not to mention the dragons ... And what's all this talk about babies?!  
__Or: Uther Pendragon is reincarnated rather abruptly in the early years of Arthur's reign and, once he's got over the shock, he realizes there's yet some work to be done. That is if the stupid dragon (which should be dead since … what? Six, seven years now?) stops bothering him._

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**1: How to Handle the Arrival (When ****You ****Logically, Technically Should be Dead)**

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Uther Pendragon - son of Constantine II, son of Constantine the Great, who in turn was the son of some Man of Greater Importance way way back in the 4th century - a man titled with many things due to the many things he'd accomplished in his life but mainly King of Camelot (or at least, _previously_ King of Camelot, though it still is a great merit in its own right) is rather certain that he is dead.

Yes, he can clearly recall his son's cries and the knife and the assassin and the wonder of _W__here the hell are the guards!?_ Why were they _always_ playing dice on duty?

And then: the silence and the blinding light followed by painless nothingness. There was no heartbeat, no breath in his body. In fact, his body ceased to exist and time stopped altogether to matter. _Finally_ he could have some peace and quiet, away from the craziness that was the daily life in Camelot.

Quite logically, he should be dead. And should have been dead for quite a while now. Yes, quite logically, he _is_ dead. As in: not alive. Uther Pendragon knows that he died and was buried (he's certain it was a pompous funeral, with spectacular fireworks and ringing trumpets; after all, he _is_ King of Camelot. It's the least the people can do after all he's done for them!) and so on, and he knows that dead people don't rise again – unless they're resurrected by crazy sorceresses craving revenge of course, but there's no crazy sorceress in sight. In fact there's no sorceress of any kind in sight. (What a relief!)

Thus he should not, _logically, _be trapped in a mortal body once again.

But then **why** in the name of the heavens is he suddenly – with both breath and heartbeat in his body - standing in a (very familiar) busy corridor somewhere in a large, white (very _incredibly_ familiar) castle with a (not so familiar) basket full of stinking, dirty laundry in his (_absolutely_ not familiar) hands?

It is absolutely not logical or sane or normal - or _anything_ along those terms - for a dead King to be standing in a corridor like this, carrying _laundry_!

No.

No.

This simply _cannot be._

"George, are you all right?" a soft, feminine voice intones from his left and Uther doesn't react, because his name certainly isn't George and if this is Heaven or even Hell, it just doesn't seem _right_. No, and he does not like it _at all._

Someone lays a hand on his arm. A woman's hand. A servant's hand, sticking out of a rough white and red dress; a livery, a _servant's_ livery.

Wait. He recognizes that livery. It's the livery of the servants of Camelot. And looking down at himself he realizes, eyes wide, that he too is wearing similar clothes, uncomfortable and itchy and there's still an overloaded, stinking basket of dirty laundry in his hands – pale hands roughened by labour that Uther does not recall ever doing – and oh,_ oh god._

Oh god _**no**__!_

Uther's mind reels with horror and he opens his mouth to shout. After all, it is an entirely normal reaction.

"WHAT SORCERY IS THIS!?"

The woman jerks away and stares at him. Another servant stops by, and says (in an entirely too casual tone to be normal): "He must have hit his head again."

"Oh," the woman says, eyes widening. "That makes sense."

"WHERE IN THE BLAZES AM I?!"

"Err, you're … you're in Camelot, George," the maidservant says slowly as if talking to a simpleton or child or maybe even a _simpleton_ child, and Uther feels his face flush.

"I AM NOT 'GEORGE'! DO NOT ADDRESS ME AS SUCH! IT IS UNCOUTH! I AM UTH—"

"What's this all about?"

The sudden voice is strong, heady. There's _authority_ in it, and Uther recognizes it immediately without a doubt. In mid-sentence he turns on his heel to come face to face with a tall, strong man, finely muscled; he's clad in the finest clothes one might find, yet they seem rather simple and not too extravagant. A red cloak has been easily slung over his shoulders, and on his chest there's the Pendragon emblem, golden and bright in the sun just like the simple crown resting on the blonde head.

"Oh, I apologize, on behalf of all of us, King Arthur," the servant gasps and bows.

"It's all right, please, do not apologize," Arthur – ARTHUR – _oh my god he's King now, _Uther realizes,_ my big boy's grown up so much!_ – replies calmly, collected like a King should. "Perhaps he needs to be taken to Gaius for examination?"

Uther's jaws feel a bit loose on their hinges.

_**Gaius**_? _He's still around and I'm not!?_

And also …

_Oh no, oh no, no no __**no – **__not Gaius!_

Mentally, Uther shivers and starts to get a little, little bit panicked because – Gaius and the old dangerous Eyebrow Glare … No! He will _not_ let himself be exposed to it again!

Almost violently, he draws away, knuckles white about the stinking basket and eyes large and blood-shot.

"N-no! I'm fine! Absolutely fine!" he croaks, weakly. Not that Uther would ever admit to croaking, weakly or in any other manner. "Sire," he adds with a rasp. Even if Arthur's his son, he's also King of Camelot and proper etiquette has been etched to Uther's spine for decades. Still. It's very, very weird to say it because normally it's the other way around and Arthur is looking at him like at _simpleton_. And addressing him as such too!

"Are you certain?" Arthur inquires. "I am sure Gaius has time to spare to-"

He is _not_ a simpleton!

"I SAID I'M FINE!"

His son gives him a pointed look. A look which no well-brought-up Prince should give his father, King or no. Whatever is he looking at him like that for?!

The servant nudges his side. Nudges! The most insolent of actions -

"You're supposed to call him 'sire', George," murmurs the servant.

- no servant should _ever_ nudge their former King like that, like he's a mere simple _commoner_, like he's one of them -

"George!"

"WHAT DO YOU WANT YOU STUPID HEDGEWITCH?!"

The woman glares at him. It might be because of the 'hedgewitch'. Which honestly might be a grave thing to call someone but Uther refuses to take pity on her even if the guards grab her and drag her to a pyre now because they think she has magic just because he called her a hedgewitch.

"You never said _'sire'."_

By now, everybody has stopped to watch the commotion and Uther wishes he could sink into the ground and disappear (forever in a very permanent way) right now. Couldn't some assassin appear just now so Uther could throw himself in their way? That'd be good. Or a wayward spear. Or a knight stumbling on his sword. Or ... or ... _something_.

King Arthur studies him for a moment with a frown, and then turns to address the other servants. "Please, do keep an eye on him for time being. We don't want any more incidents like last week."

"INCIDENTS? What incidents?! I certainly wouldn't be in some kind of 'INCIDENTS'!" Uther protests. Soundly. But he is plainly ignored –_ just like that._

"Of course, sire," the servant says and courtesies prettily. "I'll see to it."

"I'M STANDING RIGHT HERE YOU KNOW!"

"Please, George, lower your voice in the presence of your King," hisses servant shooting him a sharp look, and Arthur raise his eyebrow in a cocky, kingly manner that makes Uther choke and his face go red.

"Are you _sure_ you're all right?"

"…Fine. Yes, fine. Absolutely. Fine. Sire."

King Arthur turns his back on him and addresses one of the other servants. And he doesn't talk to _her_ like she's a simpleton, no, no. He's all polite and proper and Uther is fighting the violent urge to tear at his hair quite literarily.

"Oh, and while you're at it, could you please send word to the kitchens? I'm planning an outing later today, after the council meeting. A ride to the forest. We'll need a simple meal."

Every onlooker's eyes lit up in delight. "Right away, milord," the nearest servant says. "For four?"

"Naturally."

_Wait – what? What? 'For four'? __**What**__ is going on here?!_

Arthur nods in confirmation in a very regal manner, even if his crown is ridiculously large (Seriously, does he have no sense of style whatsoever? It's too big for him and it has far too few red crystals. It looks completely _ludicrous_), and then be sweeps off cloak whipping behind him in a Kingly way which fits him excellently. Uther stares after him.

It takes a moment to realize …

… _Oh my god, that's my son, my big boy, and he's the King and he thinks I'm some __idio__t _**_servant_**_ who has … __accidents__! _

_..._

**_Oh my god!_**

Before he can delve deeper and really have a panic attack, someone tugs impatiently at his sleeve. "Come on, you heard him, George. Let's head for the kitchens."

The young woman next to him blushes for some reason Uther absolutely cannot comprehend and leans in to whisper into her friend's ear. "They're so _sweet_!"

Who the hell are 'they'?!

"I know!" the servant boy replies and the pair are abruptly reduced to giggles and red cheeks and Uther is even more confused, and also annoyed because giggling in corridors is completely unbecoming especially when the servants should have better things to do – like _working_! And also, Uther is still rather certain that he should be dead.

A sudden thought strikes him.

If Nimueh is behind this ... She might be! Oh god, she might have sent him back just to annoy him, as some stupid means of revenge.

Wait. _She_ is dead. He met her Up There just five minutes ago and he declared her banned (not that really had the means to but he's not very comfortable about having her hanging around) and she'd simply laughed and conjured up a fireball at him. So, logically, it cannot be she who has resurrected him so abruptly into this strange unfamiliar servant's body. Which means someone else did it and Uther has not a clue who or why other than whoever did it must be stupid and selfish and very evil indeed.

Oh damn it all!

Someone tugs at his sleeve impatiently. "George, are you coming? A picnic needs to be prepared."

()()()


	2. How to Handle Servantly Duties

_**Author's note: **While the first chapter was quite short, here I give you an 8200+ word monster. Well, not technically a monster - and the word 'monster' would imply it to be a bad thing, right? And I don't think a chapter of seven thousand word is (generally) a bad thing. Thank you everyone who have read and reviewed!_

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**Chapter 2: How to Handle Being Forced to do Servantly Duties**

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A number of colourful fruits are lying before him, needing to be chopped. By him.

And that is _certainly not_ a duty that he, the Great Uther Pendragon, the Man Who Conquered Camelot, will lower himself to do. Ever. Which he informs the head cook (quite loudly) much to her displeasure.

"My," the hefty woman sighs and shakes her head at him. "You complain just as much as Merlin when he first became servant – even more I must say! Not to speak ill of him, of course," she adds quickly, slightly abashed. "He's such a sweet and kind boy. I'm glad King Arthur finally came to his senses and married him."

All of a sudden Uther's throat goes dry like parched paper and the fruits are completely forgotten. Because. The cook just said...

"… M-m**-married?"**

And no, that is _not_ an awkwardly high-pitched or wavering voice.

The woman stares at him oddly. "You _don't remember_, George? Oh, you truly hit your head didn't you! King Arthur and Lord Merlin married four years ago! How could you _forget_? Maybe you really should have Gaius take a look at your head."

Uther is shocked, horrified, appalled and rather apprehensive on the whole. Which is entirely natural when hearing that your son has married without telling you beforehand and that people wants your head to be examined constantly by a man with a dangerous eyebrow. "No, no," he gasps. "Not Gaius."

And then, suddenly, he realizes _who_ exactly the kitchen staff is talking about.

_Oh god, no, not __that__ idiot servant with a pea of a brain and the giant ears, that one that kept nearly killing himself all the time because of the tripping over everything and drinking poisoned goblets! No, no, this just __**can't**__ be happening! My son can't have **married** that fool! No, this is utter __**craziness**__ –_

"The wedding was splendid!" squeals one of the maidservants, cutting through Uther's thoughts sharply. "Ooh, it was _so,_ so pretty, I was like, oh my gosh, I've never seen _anything_ like it! Remember the fireworks and the doves…"

"And then the baby!" agrees another. "You remember when the news came?"

"Yes! That was just, just, awww so cute …!" The rest of the sentence fades into unreal words similar to sounds like _ashfghhk _and the girl's facial expression matches it perfectly.

Feeling a bit scared (not that he would ever admit to feeling fear), Uther inches toward the door armed with a very sharp kitchen knife. Perhaps he should cut his way out of the kitchens and flee the castle and the city and then throw himself on the knife to finish it all off.

There are wide happy smiles and murmurs of agreement from everybody in the room, except Uther, who's torn: should he be angry at the laundress' outspokenness talking of the royal family like that? Or maybe he should be shocked at how Arthur's affair with a (former) servant-boy is a well-known secret in Camelot, and that nobody is surprised at the King marrying the boy? Should he complain about so little work being done and there being too much talking nonsense?

And what _baby_ are they talking about?

Maybe he _shouldn't_ be shocked or surprised at all. After all, he himself had had _inklings_ about what was going on when he was (fully and logically) alive that Arthur was oddly close to his servant. Close in manners that simply weren't appropriate, especially between master and servants but there'd been just something about that boy, something Uther couldn't quite put his finger on... And his presence certainly helped to keep Arthur's temper in check and the Prince alive, yes - the boy had always been extremely loyal even if the servant was insolent, had no sense of proper conduct and ended up in the stocks more times than any royal servant in history before him …

Albeit Uther had never dreamed it would come to _this._

Maybe he should just throw himself out of the nearest window and be done with it – what does it dignity matter in a situation such as this?

Oh, wait, it **does** matter. He's Uther Pendragon, former King of Camelot, and he is not the kind of man who ever would cast away all self-esteem and pride and fling himself through a window, even in a moment of uttermost despair. Nay, that will not do. He shall have to deal with this situation in a becoming manner. Like a King would. No throwing himself out of windows or running around screaming like a madman - he doesn't want people to gossip about him calling him crazy!

Furthermore, since he's _logically_ dead, he might not be able to die again, even if at the moment he's very much alive though he's simultaneously certain that, yes, he is dead.

_I was sure being dead meant resting in peace_, Uther reflects sourly. _Being sent back to Camelot kinds of ruins it._

The cook continues to speak excitedly: "They're such a sweet couple, they match each other perfectly."

"Evidently," one of the male servants says with a secretive grin and leans in, and Uther barely manages to contain an annoyed growl. How can the servants gossip this much and still be effective? If they didn't gossip at all, then they could get twice as much done! How come he hadn't noticed this before?!

"How so?" one of the maids asks curiously.

"Well, I've heard that there's another one on the way …" The man's eyes twinkle.

"Already?" the cook exclaims. "My, they certainly aren't wasting any time. The Princess is barely five months old!"

For a moment there, Uther forgets to breathe and his skin adopts a very pale hue.

The Princess?

_What_ Princess?

Has his son, already … But, if he's married to the servant-boy …! And what about that _baby_?!

The servants speak no ill of their King or his consort, no words of infidelity. In fact one of them is giggling behind her hand right now in a manner which Uther would _never_ do himself nor allow anyone to do (it's completely unbecoming) if he could, and whispering with her friend about how cute the royal couple is and how lucky they are and how _their_ child is so sweet.

Their child, not the King's and some unknown woman's - but _theirs_. THEIRS.

Then, if the child is of his son's blood and yet, the servants speak of the very male royal consort as being the bearer of it, that can only mean one thing: **magic**.

Magic has somehow given his son a child without any sacrifices or grief involved, and Uther doesn't know whether to become overcome with joy, or anger and pure jealousy. Shock starts catching up with him, and faintly he hears the laundress ask if he's all right.

He's about to snap at her, telling her to go back to work, when, finally, the former King of Camelot comes to a startling conclusion:

_Oh my god - I have a __**grandchild, **__and I might soon have __**more**__!_

And so Uther Pendragon, son of Constantine Pendragon, former King of Camelot, promptly passes out. It's all very justified given the circumstances.

"Oh, George," the cook sighs when Uther no longer can hear. "Not this again. Gaius will not be pleased."

()()()

He wakes up in some very familiar chambers.

Very, eerily, familiar chambers.

Honestly, they _never_ change. They look like they did thirty years ago when he'd broken his leg after an unfortunate fall off his horse. (That one hadn't _his_ fault, naturally. The stable boy was an idiot, and then that mare had distracted his steed – it had nothing to do with his skills as a rider at time, and that a young Igraine had been present in the courtyard at the time had been nothing but coincidence).

Back then a very much younger Gaius had, under the supervision of his master who was court physician of Camelot at the time, patched up the Prince-not-yet-King. Over the years, many things had changed: Gaius had certainly aged but also grown very wise and a trusted ally and Uther had always valued him dearly. But. There are some things he still hasn't gotten used to and never will.

One trait has always been there and even Uther Pendragon, with the most shielded of hearts, may sometimes (read: almost always) find the infamous Eyebrow Glare _somewhat_ intimidating.

To be trapped by it now gives him a strange feeling of déjà vu.

"This is the third time this week," Gaius states and Uther frowns – he can't recall that, but then again, by the start of this week he was dead; _certainly_ dead and not this state of not-quite-dead.

"First the fall down the stairs, then the incident in the armoury and now this. Was it the heat in the kitchens?"

How very _typical_ that he's been trapped in the body of such a stupid, clumsy servant that does not match his intellect at all!

"No," Uther says, scowl deepening when his voice sounds far too bright; not at all as powerful and authoritative it should. He gives it another try, bringing more force into the words. Unfortunately, the pitch continues to be at fault. "Of course not!"

A King does _not_ pass out because of some stupid heat.

Unfortunately, the words don't have the desired effect. Gaius just looks at him oddly before walking over to the working bench, which is littered with potions and parchments. "Physically there's nothing majorly wrong with you. You hit your arm when you fell but the bruising will fade. You're lucky you didn't break something or even had a concussion. But, George, no more incidents this week, _please_. I'm busy enough as it is."

Uther finds himself tongue-tied. He can't give orders. He can't tell people off. He can't have them sent to the stocks when they act like idiots. He can't have them sent to the dungeons when they bother him. He can't …

There's so much he _can't_ do anymore! What _can_ he do?

For now he settles with crossing his arms and glaring at the physician with all might he can muster. Again, not with the desired effect.

"I must see to Merlin now," Gaius continues, naturally referring to his ward only by name; Uther isn't surprised, even if he frowns since it's not proper even if the physician is the boy's guardian. "I suspect … and so _soon_. Well. I'm sure the castle is already full of rumours, it's better to confirm them before they run wild."

The words hang in the air and Uther's face flushes knowing exactly what his old friend is implying. He feels slightly lightheaded.

_If I pass out again I'm going to strangle someone with my bare hands!_

()()()

Being a servant is positively the toughest task Uther has ever faced – more bothersome than conquering two (or was it three?) of the Eleven Kingdoms to create Camelot.

Who knew the corridors could feel so long, the piles of dirty clothing so endless, and the muddy floors so many and _enormous_?

Not that he does much of the scrubbing or the carrying or – well, _anything_ really.

Mostly he busies himself with standing around and watching work progress. Even if it means people tend to glare at him angrily – that's easy to ignore, or he can always glare back and bark at them to keep working as they should. (Though they have trouble listening to him and doing what they're told.)

Hesitant as he is to admit it, having enchanted brooms to keep the corridors dust-free _is_ a quite good idea, even if he'd yelled a bit when first stumbling onto one, nearly falling flat on his face - the stupid broom had just kept _sweeping!_ They are certainly _much_ more effective than the human part of staff.

Even if they're magic.

Oh god, his beloved castle halls are filled with_ magic brooms._

Also, there's the chatter which the servants perpetually emit. Oh, by the gods, Uther swears he might soon go mad with this endless prattling and talking and gossiping, left, right and centre - all around and all the time; mostly about nonsense, like if Sir Lamorack is most likely to win that tournament in five weeks (lest Arthur does it, of course) and what is the best cut of a wedding dress, while the rest is about things that the staff shouldn't even have _heard_. Like what positions does the King prefer when -

No. He'll stop it _right there._

He can't concentrate with all this noise going on. It's been only an hour or so but already he's getting a steady headache and he tells the servants as much, ordering one of them to go down to Gaius and fetch him some remedy for it.

"Do it yourself," the young man huffs, affronted, and Uther glares at him.

"You will not address me in such a manner! Have you any idea who I really am?!"

The servant looks at him oddly. Uther _definitely_ won't have it.

"I am Uth-"

Again he's interrupted in the most untimely manner before he can explain that he is no servant, truly, he is the not-quite-dead King Uther Pendragon and he_ will not_ take orders from a mere boy who doesn't know his place and certainly not fetch his own medicine like a commoner!

"Oh, hello George!" a vaguely familiar, tanned woman says with a smile. She's slightly oddly dressed: not like the servants, the fabric is far too fine. Yet she couldn't possibly be a noble Lady - he'd have recognized her if that were case, surely! Though there's something about her ..

"There you are, I've looked everywhere for you! We need your help." She bites her lip worriedly. "Richard's still terribly ill, so you need to take his place. He was meant to follow King Arthur and Merlin on their picnic, since Gilli would like the assistance, he's still new and it won't be that much work actually, just be around, you know."

Uther stares at her stupidly. No, not stupidly. Of course not. He simply stares at her waiting for an explanation like any man in his position would.

"…Who?"

"You don't …? Of course you don't remember," the woman shakes her head at him. "He's the King's manservant. King Arthur's, I mean. Please say yes?"

The former King groans. This can't be happening ...

()()()

It _is_ happening.

Just _how_ the woman managed to persuade him remains somewhat of a mystery. But while he somewhat regrets his decision, the _truly_ wants to see more of his son – his beloved grown-up son. Even if it means having to pretend being a servant and do a servant's duties such as taking care of the horses.

The picnic makes Uther feel decidedly awkward. Terribly, terribly awkward. It's even worse than the goblin incident when he was forced to stay hidden in his chambers for a week because of the lack of hair – indeed, now he'd very much prefer to go back to Camelot (without a single hair on his head, if need be) and forget about all this craziness or better yet, die in a certain (as in no-coming-back-alive) way and no longer be a (clumsy stupid) servant that even the _knights_ seem to pity. Honestly, the knights! They should _not_ act patronizing to the King as if he were an unfortunate child! No, no, Uther does not like it.

There are a number of other things as well that are _slightly _bothering him.

First off all, his son (who's grown up _so much _all of a sudden – his little boy is no longer a boy!) has no qualms whatsoever about showing affections toward that servant boy – no, he's not a servant any longer, nor a boy. He's not even classed as a commoner anymore! _(What's the world come to?)_ He's a young man with magic. MAGIC. Yes, capitalized. Because it needs to be.

For the former King might have a slight panic attack and a strong urge to shout "_GUARDS_!" when the very magical, young man first appeared in the courtyard, walking by Arthur's side. The very magical, young man returns those affections openly, kissing and speaking sweet words and sending those long meaningful gazes that make Uther uncomfortable to witness. The pair banters and talks casually about magic and other such things like dragons, unicorns and alliances with druids (!), as well as courtly and private affairs.

Uther might feel a bit skittish. Just a little. Not that he'd admit it, of course. A King isn't _skittish_, no matter the situation. Even if the former servant has magic and there's probably magic in Camelot's daily court business now and there's also a small but prominent bulge on the man's stomach.

Arthur speaks sweetly with the magical, young man - Royal Consort according to the castle staff, who had all stared at Uther oddly when he'd subtly or, well, not so subtly, asked what position "Gaius' troublesome, foolhardy ward" now had - and the magical, young –

No. _Merlin_. It's probably best to refer to him by his name or else Uther's head might burst with this insanity.

The magical – _Mer_lin kisses Arthur's cheek as the young King helps him off the horse, while Uther holds the reins. His knuckles are steadily turning sharply white. Nobody pays him any especial heed to notice.

"The glade is just up ahead. It's perfect," Arthur announces proudly. Taking the basket in one hand (_why is no servant rushing out to help him?_ Uther mentally rages. _How come are all servants so inefficient when they're needed?!_)_, _the young King takes his son, a blonde three-years-old, by the other, and Merlin follows, picking up a little dark-haired girl and resting her on his hip, smiling broadly.

The three knights – all of which are unknown to Uther – are on their heels, and though they are armed their poses indicate they are relaxed and, somehow, almost a part of this family, not set aside from it.

Uther can't stop staring. Because, oh god, oh god it's _real_ now, those are his _grandchildren, _his flesh and blood; his son is a _father_ now and he's married to a _magical_ man.

"But, Arthur, it's so close to the ledge of that cliff. It's not safe for the little ones," Merlin says, wrinkling his nose in displeasure as they walk deeper into the clearing which ends on a cliff facing Camelot. The view from there is utterly magnificent. Uther would've noticed that as well if he wasn't so distracted by trying to keep calm and not run around screaming like a loon at the strange world unfolding around him.

"All right, we'll settle here then. Don't worry, love. The knights will help us keep an eye on them."

"Of course we will," intones one of them, the dark-haired one with the in Uther's opinion ridiculous beard, smiling kindly but without any sort of propriety and Uther wonders wherever from _this_ knight is, possessing such manners. "Don't worry, they'll be perfectly safe, trust me."

Apart from the royal couple and the knights, there's also a young man in druidic-looking robes, with auburn hair dusting his forehead and ridiculous ears and a kind of far-away gaze. He's … vaguely familiar.

Wait. That's the boy who fought against him in the Open Tournament!

_He's got a real magic look about him,_ Uther fumes, and then he realizes; O_h crap, I met a sorcerer all those years ago and didn't have them beheaded! Damn it, this truly must be sorcery! _

The man steps up to them and offers, "I can put up some protective wards, so they don't wander off."

This seems to soothe Merlin immensely. "Oh! Thank you, Gilli," he says, a hand absently resting on his stomach. "I totally forgot about that! What would I do without you?"

Arthur chuckles. "Every lifesaver needs a lifesaver of their own it would seem. Oh, look what a treat the cook made!"

He presents a sugary blueberry tart that makes even Uther's mouth water by just looking at it from afar.

"My favourite!" exclaims Merlin eagerly.

Meanwhile Gilli, smiling gently, walks toward the cliff edge and as the sorcererdoes his spellwork accompanied by intricate hand movements and a glowing ring on his finger Uther stares at him aghast, blood cold like ice at the sight.

And Arthur isn't even _reacting_ at the magic being used to close to them. There isn't a raised eyebrow and he doesn't look over his shoulder or anything. He just. Sits there all calm and is currently leaning in to kiss Merlin again and there's a sorcerer doing magic just like that.

JUST LIKE THAT.

_What's happened to the glorious Camelot that I've built?_ Uther mentally whines. _The Purge seems have been entirely for __**nothing**__!_

They decide to settle in the cooling shadow between two large trees, in a spot where you can still turn and see the white city through the foliage. The sun is sharp and the few clouds above are white and crisp, so the shadow gives a welcome cover from the heat; it is a very fine day. The clearing itself is quite beautiful, with bluebells growing in the fresh green grass, and the wind sings softly in the trees; but Uther takes no note of this. He's too preoccupied with staring at the scene before him. Silently, unnervingly staring.

Arthur spreads a red blanket on the ground and discards his long, fine cloak. _(Oh, that poor cloak! Cloaks are made to be worn so you look majestic and powerful in them! Have I taught the boy nothing?!)_ Underneath, his clothes are simple – not those of a king.

Were his bearing not so powerful, one could have mistaken him for a commoner; something Uther would've ensured would _never_ happen to him _or_ his son. Royalty are made to be recognized!

The King makes a bit of a fuss bringing out pillows for his (magical) husband to sit on, in a truly gentlemanly manner of course, ignoring Merlin rolling his eyes in an exasperated manner even if the warlock eventually takes seat, the little Princess settling contently in his lap. Food is being taken out next: also simple things, fruits and sweet honeyed bread and watered wine, nothing extravagant.

"Now, do not run off, James," Arthur reminds the little Prince firmly. "When you play you must be careful, understand?"

At least he knows _something_ about _naming – _Uther lets out a sigh of relief. He's not sure what he'd done if his grandchild had been named something like Melvin or Harry. (What he doesn't know is that the name was Merlin's idea because the warlock absolutely refused to call his son Gwaine Jr., Leon II or Little Lance, and _never_ Uther II: the whole magical community of Albion would shudder with horror at the mere thought. But maybe it's best that the former King of Camelot doesn't know about that, for now.)

The boy nods eagerly. "Yes, father. Can I play with Uncle Lance and Uncle Percy now?"

"What about me?" cuts in the third knight with a pout on his face. Yes, a _pout_, which is completely undignified for a knight and –

Wait. 'Uncles'?

"Oh, why am I even surprised?" Uther mutters darkly to himself and the horses next to him. The horses don't reply (thankfully). He still has some trouble with fastening the reins to the posts that have been set up for this purpose; it's been many years since he's been forced to do this himself, after all, that's a _servant's_ work. It's completely justified.

"I want to play with you too but you never like playing hide and seek because you never win," Prince James explains rapidly, as very excited children have a tendency to do. His speech isn't that clear yet; his r:s sounds more like l:s. It's really kind of adorable, except Uther does not acknowledge adorableness even when it comes to his grandchildren - and oh my god, THAT'S HIS LITTLE GRANDCHILD!

Maybe reality hasn't sunk in completely yet.

"So I thought you don't like playing hide and seek with me."

"Of course I want to play hide and seek!" the knight exclaims, then glances hesitantly at the boy's parents who are watching the exchange in amusement. "If you'd allow all three of us, sires?"

"Certainly, Gwaine, just don't stray too far," Arthur assures. "Stay within hearing range."

"And don't do anything I wouldn't do!" adds Merlin firmly, giving the knight a warning look.

The knight, in turn, looks completely innocent like a kicked puppy. "Have you so little faith in your best friend, Your Highness?"

"I think it's better to let that question go unanswered, sir Gwaine."

The knight pouts some more, but the other two knights nod in confirmation. One of them, the tallest one, offers to start counting causing the little Prince to jump up and down in excitement.

Abruptly the Royal Consort and Warlock stops them, waving his arms almost panickedly. "Wait! James, lace your shoes properly!"

Grumbling quietly the boy trots back to the blanket slightly defiantly but settles down to lace his shoes firmly so they won't fall off by his running around. Once done, he stands triumphant and impatient: "Can we go playing now, _pleease_?"

"Do you have your jacket?" Merlin adds sounding worried and Arthur lays a gentle hand on the warlock's elbow, as if to soothe him.

"_Yes_, mother."

The young King grins at the child's eagerness. "All right, off you go then."

"Yay! Uncle Percy, hide and seek, now!"

"Right away, sire!" is the obedient response though the man is grinning like a loon. Which is completely undignified for a knight. Knights don't abandon their duties to run about and play hide and seek with four-year-olds!

In the background, Merlin chuckles. "One thing is clear: he's truly a Pendragon, ordering his uncles about like that!"

()()()

Somewhere around mid-day, as Uther is very incredibly reluctantly brushing down the horses, he hears it – a voice.

"_Uther."_

He drops the brush with a faint thud in the grass.

What was **that**? Startled he looks around. No one is turned his way; the knights have just returned looking completely exhausted, as the Royal Consort announces that it's time to eat, and the little Prince runs into his father's arms laughing, eagerly telling about how awesome it is playing with Uncle Leon and that Uncle Gwaine's promised to show him how to fight with a sword later. Their conversation fades into the background however and Uther cannot hear Arthur berating the knight for such a stupid promise because there's no way he's going to let the four year old boy get anywhere close to a sword.

No, there's another voice, much closer, like it was right next to his ear. Or right _inside_ his ear.

"_Uther, I know you can hear me," _it growls. It sounds rather annoyed.

What the-?

Wait. That voice, it's vaguely familiar … as if he's heard it before, long ago, in another life or something poetic like that. Not that Uther would read any poetry, that just isn't him. They are calling him by his real name too, not George! But surely he'd not be acquainted with people talkingin his head.

"_Uther Pendragon, answer me you stupid man!"_

"And how do you propose I do that?!" Uther shouts, causing the gathered family across the clearing to glance at him curiously.

"Are you all right?" asks the one with the large, bared, muscled arms.

What's he supposed to answer? 'Don't mind me, I'm just trying to talk with voices in my head.' No, he'd not let himself be subjected to more weird glances!

"Err. Yes. I was just … thinking out loud."

The knight nods hesitantly. "… All right then. Just … call if there's anything wrong, yeah." He draws back to the royal family and Uther turns his back to them, hoping they don't think he's completely insane (yet).

Gritting his teeth he tries _projecting_ his thoughts like words, without actually speaking them, and it's rather difficult especially since he wants to yell very loudly at the voice to stop annoying him.

"_What. Do. You. Want?"_

"_So it __**is**__ you. Oh darn. I'd kind of hoped you'd be dead." _The voice is sounding less than pleased.

Uther barely suppresses a sigh. "_Believe me, so did I. Just – who the bloody hell are you and what are you doing in my head?"_

"_Believe it or now, I'm here to help. Advice you, if you will. It seems you have one more job before your mortal Destiny is over; including helping my Dragonlord and his King. I think you know who they are. You should definitely. I mean, you can't be _that_ out of date … right? Oh, wait ... maybe."_

Dragonlord! That could only mean …

"_You're a __**dragon**__!"_

"_Yes, I am quite aware of that," _the voice states dryly.

Uther is boiling with fury and confusion. _"You're supposed to be dead! I had your kind eradicated! Arthur had the last one of you slain! I ordered-"_

"_Really," chuckles the voice, "you think that ridding __one__ kingdom, out of all the kingdoms in the world, of my ancient race, would get rid of all dragons in existence? Have you any idea how vast this world is and how broad the sky is? You are truly ignorant, Uther Pendragon."_

Damn that stupid … stupid destiny! This is so wholly unfair. Not only is he trapped in a stupid, clumsy servant's body upon his return to Camelot and the craziness that surely will unfold, no, he's got some destiny to fulfill as well _and_ he's going to be advised by a dragon.

What has he _ever_ done to deserve this cruel fate?!

"_I've got to run – well, fly is more of a correct term – before Kilgarrah catches me," _says the dragon cheerily._ "He'd be __**most**__ displeased to find out about this. Something about 'interfering with things you cannot comprehend', he probably still thinks I'm an immature hatchling… But we'll catch up, yes? I'll be back in Camelot shortly. I'm out scouting, you see, and you ought to understand how important that is. Anyhow, remember, don't tell anyone about this, alright? Especially not the druids or other magic folks living in Camelot. They'd be quite upset, given the Purge and everything. Or, most likely, they won't believe you're actually Uther Pendragon and take you to Gaius for an examination of the head."_

Then the voice leaves accompanied by the flutter of wings and then, blessed silence. Uther breathes out heavily through his nose, attempting to compose himself. Must not burst and start yelling. That'd be most undignified. Must not burst.

On top of all, the stupid dragon is also completely **right**. No one would believe it if George the dimwitted servant who jokes about brass (Uther would _never_ do such a thing and wouldn't have believed that anyone could be so dull, but the castle staff have remarked at his sudden lack of brass jokes), suddenly claims to be the deceased King of Camelot.

He is not a very big fan of Destiny right now. No, not at all. If he gets his hands on that dragon he'll wring its stupid neck-

"Why don't you join us, George?" Merlin suddenly asks looking up, addressing him like an _equal_ – which isn't right or maybe it is because Uther was the King of Camelot and now is a servant, and Merlin's gone the other way around, from servant to King and – oh well, does it even matter?

He shakes his head trying to clear it, to get rid of the traces of dragons and destiny and focus on the warlock's question. What was the question?

"Come on," agrees Arthur. "Please, have a seat."

It's an order from a King; he cannot refuse even if he would prefer to turn tail and run and forget all about dragons and newly crowned kings and reincarnations. He walks across the field slowly and carefully as if he took a single misstep he'd trigger a hunter's trap.

As soon as he's crossed the thin threshold and is standing by the edge of the blanket, a heap of cookies are thrust into his hands before he can protest.

"Hello! I'm Prince James," announces the child who's given them (as if Uther wasn't already aware). "I'm going to be King one day and I'll be the best king ever."

It's been awhile since he was around such a small child - or any child at all - Uther quietly admits and he feels slightly awkward. Hopefully the boy won't start clinging to him or ask awkward questions or … anything of the sort. Though he must say the boy really looks like Arthur did at his age, except for the eyes, they're a more sapphire shade of blue. Thank god the boy hasn't inherited those giant ears!

"I am sure you will," he says and adds, remembering the boy still has a title, being his grandchild and all; "Sire."

"I'm going to make free cookies a law!"

"That sounds very nice, sire," Uther replies dutifully albeit he has his doubts who would appreciate such a thing. "It would be greatly appreciated among the people, I'm certain."

The boy swirls around to stare at his father. "See! He likes it! It's a great law," he exclaims triumphantly.

"We've had this discussion before, James," Arthur replies sternly. "You may pass laws once you're King, but now you are still a Prince and a little one at that. Now stop bothering poor George."

The Prince pouts. "That's not_ fair_. Mama, tell papa it's not fair!"

"It may not be fair, but it's the way things are," Merlin replies calmly. "Sit down and eat, my little Prince."

The boy looks to be near the point of screaming, but then sir Gwaine steps up offering his piece of the blueberry tart and the Prince immediately calms, claiming and wolfing down the sweet cake in a heartbeat.

The Princess (whose name Uther yet doesn't know, much to his displeasure) is just a few months old and she clings possessively to Merlin, refusing to be put down, causing the adults to chuckle warmly.

"She's truly inherited your possessive trait, love," Arthur remarks.

"_You're_ not the one to say that," the royal consort responds. "You're even worse! I'm happy as long as she doesn't turn out to be as much as a prat as you."

The King tries looking serious but Uther can see he's biting back a smile. "I am _not_ a prat."

_A prat? They're still using that silly word? _Uther rolls his eyes._ Heavens, that got old age__s__ ago! _

"Yes, you are. A prat and a dollophead."

"What's a dollophead?" Prince James asks curiously, turning to his fathers while chewing on a piece of honeyed bread. Or is it 'fathers'? Now Uther starts growing slightly confused. Well. His son and son's husband _are_ fathers. Even if one of them also technically is the mother. Oh, curse this! The youth have always troubled him; they always do things that make no sense and always break all the rules at every opportunity!

"Would you like a description?" Merlin asks playfully.

The child nods eagerly.

"Two words: King Arthur."

"_Mer_lin!" cries the young King, without heat or ire. A huge grin is plastered on his face. "You're being a very bad influence."

The glare the warlock sends his husband could possibly burn down castles and forests and mountains within three seconds flat and Uther winces, pitying his son for being at the receiving end. At least the eyes aren't glowing gold (at the moment) or a demonic red (albeit it's very close) or any other suspicious colour (yet). The tone is dangerously sweet like a honey-covered beehive about to be let loose. It's rather painful also from this angle and Uther slowly inches backwards.

"'Bad influence'? '_Bad influence_'? What about when you completely trashed sir Bedivere last month – _right in front of James_ – and the man had to be taken Gaius for acute treatment and wasn't let out for _three days_?"

"That, that was just _training_! An accident!" Arthur defends himself and nearly, almost squeaks and Uther has an odd urge to pat his shoulder comfortingly. He knows how it feels, at least sort of. "I didn't know James was watching! Plus Bedivere was distracted by that lad, Leon's servant (what's his name again?), and it served him right to be defeated when he wasn't focusing on more important things like using his sword to _defend_ _himself_!"

The warlock's mood changes like a rapid wave, a beam of sunshine after the cold unforgiving gale. It must be mood swings, those awful things that Igraine had as well when she was carrying Arthur – if those pregnancy rumours are true (which Uther is pretty sure they are). It is rather terrifying.

"Oh, you mean Adair!" Merlin exclaims eagerly. "They've been making eyes at each other for the last few months you know. I wonder if either one planning on making on making a move yet."

"I don't know whether I'd be thankful if they did. Bedivere's mace-work is _dreadful _and he spends nowhere enough time practicing with the lance either. Imagine how many training sessions he'd skip due to 'sickness' if the two actually started having-"

"Not in front of Elaine!"**  
**

Arthur is wise enough to look sheepish. "Sorry, love."

To hide his snort, Uther takes a large sip of the spiced wine. Ah. Must be from Mercia; probably year 488 … a very good year, indeed. He's always liked Mercian wine.

()()()

Upon their return at the city, a servant rushes forward to announce that Aithusa – whoever that might be, probably some peasant like so many of Arthur's men nowadays – has just arrived and is waiting in the courtyard.

At the news Merlin looks ecstatic, but Arthur looks torn, a worried frown creasing his forehead. Maybe it _isn't_ a knight. Or maybe _(what if it is?!) _the young King has something against said knight, given how happy Merlin seems and how the warlock with an odd sort of grace that Uther had no idea the clumsy boy possessed slides off the saddle, hurrying to the courtyard with Princess Elaine securely in his arms.

No, surely this Aithusa cannot be … with Merlin … _no!_

Uther has a strong sudden urge to march up to the courtyard and make sure of it himself that it isn't true. It simply _cannot be._

"Oh, don't look so downtrodden, Arthur!" the warlock cries over his shoulder. "He gave me no warning earlier so I'm sure there's no bad news."

This makes Arthur brighten up and his tense shoulders relax. "I hope you're right, my love."

To his great annoyance, Uther is made to take the horses down to the stables, so he cannot follow his son and see who this Aithusa _really_ is.

That is a duty which King Arthur later would regret giving him, when it takes the king-come-servant nearly an hour to find those bloody stables because not only as a King doesn't Uther usually go there (what are stablehands for if not to bring out horses when he needs them, and put them back when he's done?) and the castle has been slightly redecorated over the years.

And once he actually _finds_ the stables, he has no idea where each horse should go or where to put the saddles and by now, Arthur's steed Hengroen has already tried biting him three times and he's well and bloody tired of this bloody work and loudly complaining about that. In response Hengroen only tries biting him again and the stablehands are staring openly but refusing to help, shuffling awkwardly as they hide in the corners.

In retrospect, that might be because Uther's yelling like a madman at the stupid horse and stupid destiny and stupid voices in his head.

()()()

As nightfall comes around, an exhausted Uther is making his way toward the King's chambers when he realizes that he isn't King and thus cannot go to sleep in the King's chamber. He has nowhere to go. Even if the servant who's body he's now occupying might have someplace to live, Uther had no idea where and he would rather not go to some pig's sty which must be the equivalent of a servant's house.

There's the option of going to the Chief of Staff to complain. Or possible beg (not that Uther would ever 'beg' – more like, convincing him) for some free lodging. He doesn't have a single coin on him either!

"Stupid destiny, stupid reincarnation putting me in this body-"

"George, what are you doing here? It's very late."

He swirls around to come to face with that lady again. Now she wears a deeply red dress with fine embroidery and truly looks like a lady. What's her name – Grunhilda? Genève? He should remember it by now! He's sure he knows her face from _somewhere_ …

Ah! Wasn't that Morgana's servant girl, Guinevere! Yes, that's it. But whatever is she doing dressed like that? No servant would look like that, or have such a strong bearing! No, something's changed._ She was the girl who was accused of sorcery when the water was poisoned, _a voice whispers in his head and he mentally curses. Sorcerers here, sorcerers there, sorcerers everywhere!

"I was –" Momentarily he halts. Should he ask her if there's anywhere appropriate for him to stay over the night? No! He can't do that! That'd be pathetic. He's Uther Pendragon, he has no need to ask servant girls for lodging – no, that'd reflect badly on him. "I was just retiring."

"Ah. All right, well, I'll see you in the morning, George. By the way, I think Richard's going to stay abed for a few more days so it's best you take his place tomorrow. Merlin's got Gilli taking care of him and Arthur can be such a handful in the mornings, especially when there are council meetings … Not, not that I know about his behaviour in the mornings or, you, you know. Just what Merlin's told me. Oh, that didn't sound right…" She lets out a small awkward laugh. "You just have to bring him his breakfast and so, Gilli's so kind taking care of the rest or Merlin has the chores done by magic – you know how selfless he is and – oh, I'm getting off track now …"

Hm, that would give him an opportunity to see his son more closely. How can he say no, truly? Besides, it can't be _that_ bad, being a manservant; it's just temporarily, for a day or a few hours.

"All right then. I shall do it."

"Thank you, George! You've spared us all so much trouble."

Then, she steps up and _hugs_ him.

Uther stands utterly still and stiff and, oh god, the maidservant-maybe-lady is _hugging him. _It's brief and short and the woman smiled awkwardly when she breaks away.

"Sorry. It's just I've been helping the Chief of Staff to search for a substitute all afternoon. It's such a relief to hear you'll help out. Well, I must rush now, I have dinner with sir Lancelot. See you tomorrow, George!"

…

Well that had certainly been … odd.

…

Right, lodgings. He needs to find someplace to sleep. Yes, it's best to focus on that and not on the weird behavior of Camelot's inhabitants in general and its castle staff in particular.

()()()

For some half an hour he walk around aimlessly, letting his feet carry him around without any particular goal, until he stumbles upon the Royal Librarian's residence. By now the sky is dark and the corridors a bit cold. Surely Geoffrey is still around? The man is ancient but as stubborn as rock, he'll probably reach the 100-mark without issue.

Taking his chances, Uther knocks with firm authority on the dark heavy doors. The smell of candle-wax and dry parchment hits his nose violently as the doors open inwards.

"…What are you doing here?" the old man asks suspiciously. His beard must've grown by at least a foot, the former King notes. It's a wonder he doesn't keep stumbling on it.

Oh, right. He doesn't look or sound like Uther, of course the librarian doesn't know it's _him_! "I was seeking lodgings for the night, sir," he answers respectfully.

"Well go bother someone else!"

The doors are unceremoniously shut in his face. There's not even an offered 'Good night'.

_How very rude!_

()()()

"What, you've got no money?" The owner of the Rising Sun squints at him displeasedly. "No, you can't get a room for free."

Uther frowns at him darkly. "Surely-" he begins but is not allowed to finish the sentence.

"And _no_," continues the burly man in a strong, annoyed voice, "buttons do not count as payment!"

That's it; Uther's had enough of pleading and being nice and pretending to be pathetic.

"GIVE ME A ROOM YOU MORON OR I'LL HAVE YOU IN THE STOCKS!" he yells very, very angrily, face red and his breath sharp. "I BET YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE STOCKS AND I GUARANTEE IT'LL MAKE YOU FEEL AS PATHETIC AS YOU LOOK. SO IF YOU WANT TO AVOID THAT, GIVE. ME. A. ROOM. NOW!"

The taverner's eyes widen as the whole room goes quiet, dices stilling on their tables and people pausing in the middle of a drink. Then, slowly, a few of them stands and starts backing out, food and jugs of ale still littering their tables. No one speaks a single word, glancing at one another or staring fixedly at the servant.

This, of course, does not please the burly man. "Now look what you've done, you're frightening away my costumers! _Get out_ of my tavern - out, out, _out_!" He starts waving his arms wildly and dangerously and shouts for the guards.

Somewhat disheartened Uther walks out of the inn (back straight and proud: he'd rather walk out himself than get _dragged_ out by the guards like some misbehaving drunkard), glaring at the dark star-dotted sky. The tiny blinking lights have no business looking so cheerful.

He heaves a sigh, squaring his shoulders. Where can he go? There's no way he's sleeping in the stables…!

But. There's that, or asking Gaius for a room. Stables, Gaius. Stables.

()()()

"Back again? Please, George, do _not_ tell me you've had another incident."

"There was no accident or other such thing!" Uther says irritably. "I'm hungry and tired and sore and I need someplace to sleep."

The physician narrows his eyes at him and Uther groans; he's severely tired of that expression by now. "Have you forgotten the way to the servants' quarters?"

"Servant's quarters!" he exclaims heatedly. "I'd _never_ retire to such a lowly, dirty place!"

The old man sends him an odd look, then sighs, and closes the door.

"I have no room for freeloaders, George. But fine. For tonight then, tonight only. There's a bed up there." Gaius gestures at the adjourning chamber.

_A bed! Oh thank god._

Unfortunately, it turns out the mattress is thin and hard and lumpy and probably full of lice, and there's only a thin blanket and _no pillows_. And Gaius says he'll wake him early in the morning for him to get on time with his duties (to which Uther objects, he's had such a bothersome long day – he deserves a lie-in!) and there's no guarantee there'll be any breakfast. There's also the distinct smell of herbs and frog-paste irritating Uther's nose all through the night. What wouldn't he do to have back his old bed in his old room!

But when he starts complaining Gaius threatens to have him thrown out without further ado, so Uther wisely chooses to shut up.

Everything is so, _so_ unfair.

()()()


	3. How to Handle Awkward Mornings

()()()

**Chapter 3: How to Handle Awkward Mornings and Supposed-to-be-extinct Dragons**

()()()

The King's chambers are empty.

Or more precisely _unoccupied_: because when looking around Uther finds they're not void of furniture, rather packed with them like a mere storage room. He can make out unused beds, armoires and tables in the gloom. Everything is covered with pristine white sheets and a very fine layer of dust. There's not a single candle burning, and the pale sunlight spilling through the cracks between the long thick curtains create long oddly former shadows making the room look cramped and slightly eerie.

What's this? Uther frowns darkly. How can the King _not _be in the King's chambers?

This is ... This is _outrageous!_

Angrily he storms out of the room and the filled tray which he'd fetched in the kitchens (thank god he didn't have to actually prepare the food himself!) nearly topples over in his white-knuckled grip. Some of the grapefruit juice sloshes dangerously over the brim of the goblet but Uther is too preoccupied to notice.

Surely Arthur cannot still be residing in his old chambers? Those are a Prince's rooms, not a King's; they are far too small and simple! Not to mention they don't have any kind of conveniently attached chambers for a Queen (or _Consort_ as it is now) to reside!

Or is Arthur … Is he _sharing_ his room, without any separate chambers, with …?

_Oh no!_

If that is so, that means, there's a chance of the two being in the very same room in the very same bed at this _moment_. And Uther has got to _walk in there_ and serve them breakfast in a professional manner without reacting at any kind of – intimacy that might be happening at this moment between the two because Arthur hasn't the sense to give his Consort separate chambers to which the King would only go when desiring such - _intimacies_. They might even be ... _right now!_

_Oh god oh god oh god._

He squares his shoulders like a warrior who is about to enter a battlefield. There's only one way to find out and he cannot run away like a coward! He's King of Camelot damn it!

They're only down the corridor which is the only upside of this day. The doors are closed but not locked, and there are no guards _– no guards! What's with the poor security?! No guards, just sorcerers everywhere! Oh, oh, poor Camelot! Everything's going downhill…!_

Awkwardly he shifts the tray so that he gets a hand free to open the door. As a King, he is not that used to knocking (more used to having people make way and for trumpets to blow and his name being called out in all its might whenever he walks down a corridor) and thus, he does not knock at the door before entering.

Which he comes to regret shortly thereafter.

_Oh_.

On the large bed, a quite bare King Arthur and an equally undressed Consort Warlock are deeply engaged in, well, err, _intimate_ activities that married, in-love couples often can be on early mornings when they wake in each other's arms. Naked intimate activities. Partly under the covers and deep among the pillows but still - that's his _son_ and his lover, and they're-

**"Oh my god!**"

The tray slips from his hands and reaches the floor with a crash along with Uther's jaw.

The loud noise startles the couple and they break apart and the warlock flushes red, diving under the covers clearly embarrassed about his naked state. Arthur is half-way to his sword attached to the belt lying on the bedside table when he sees that it isn't an assassin intruding, rather a simple servant. (Well, not _really_ a simple servant, but Arthur isn't aware of this so it hardly matters from his point of view.) The blonde man's eyes widen and he chokes, and he waves his sword in the man's direction pointedly.

"W-what are you doing here? Haven't you ever heard about _knocking_, you _**imbecile**_**?!"**

Arthur's voice is slightly high-pitched and his neck is red and he's still holding the sword in a rather protective manner, as if to defend himself and the other man occupying the bed from anyone daring to come nearer. It's working quite well.

"I'm, uh." Uther clears his throat, trying to sound as calm as possible while averting his eyes. It takes a moment to find words, to gather his thoughts, because - _Oh god! My son, he - they –oh my god!_

"I...I am your new manservant while what's-his-face, err – Manfred, no, Isaac, I mean Richard is ill – s-sire."

The tone's a bit wobbly at the end and Uther doesn't know where to look; if he's to look at his son's face despite the dreadful embarrassment and shock, or at the walls, or if he's to close his eyes very very tightly and walk out of the door, breakfast is ruined anyway, because. Arthur. And naked. And Merlin. And bed.

And …

_OH. MY. GOD!_

"**Whatever**!" Arthur cries. Loudly. And he's still _naked._ "Learn to knock you stupid idiot! Don't you know you're not supposed to just _walk in_ and—"

"Arthur," cuts the warlock in, peeking up through the thick duvets and the movement of out the corner of his eye causes Uther's focus to shift, so that he's looking at the boy even if he hadn't meant to. "Don't be so harsh on him; he's never served such a prat like you before. Though knocking would be ... quite good yeah."

"Exactly!" agrees Arthur, loudly, and he _still_ hasn't let go of the sword. He points it in Uther's direction, fire in his gaze and he looks ready to gauge George's, err, Uther's eyes out with a fork. "And you, stop staring damn it! **No one** stares at _my_ Merlin!"

Immediately the King-come-servant looks someplace else. The pattern of the floor is very interesting. He'd never known there was a crack there in that particular stone or that they had that reddish shade …

"I-I'm sorry for the intrusion, sire."

No, that was _not_ a squeak. Because Uther Pendragon, nay, no Pendragon in history never, ever '_squeaks'_.

"Fine." The King exhales through his nose, evidently trying to calm down and compose himself. "You apology is accepted. You can go. Be back in a couple of hours, with food," orders Arthur firmly and gestures at the mess on the floor: "You can take care of that later. But anything like this again and I _will_ have you in the stocks for your incompetence!"

_"Arthur,"_ Merlin mutters to his husband, the tone warning.

The King sends his Consort a look like a kicked puppy.

Uther is steadily inching toward the doors already and he's more than happy to flee. He doesn't want to think about what the two starts doing the moment the doors close behind him.

()()()

After the _incident_ this morning he feels terribly, dreadfully mortally embarrassed and he doesn't want to ever, ever face his son again. At least not for a very, very long while.

For a moment he considers giving Arthur the Talk. No, no, not _that_ Talk - another Talk, the one about Manners and Why You Don't Hop Into Bed With Your Consort Without Locking Doors First And Especially Not When Servants Are Due To Appear At Any Moment Because That Is Unbecoming Behaviour. And also maybe a Talk about Court Etiquette.

Luckily by the time he returns with an over-filled tray (the cook had glared at him oddly when he'd come to demand a second tray; maybe that was because it was after breakfast hours thus the whole kitchen was busy with preparing lunch) at Arthur's chambers the boy is well and properly dressed, as is his Consort. That sorcerer from yesterday and a knight whom Uther just very vaguely recognizes is also there, along with an elderly woman with a long braid down her back.

The old woman is talking gently to the warlock and laying a hand on his stomach (Arthur's eyes glints possessively just so but no threats are uttered and no swords are reached for), smiling; Uther appears just in time to tune in on the conversation.

"…will be overjoyed!" she's saying. "This is any grandma's dream."

Grandma? Who _is_ that woman?!

"Thank you, Alice," King Arthur says, voice warm. "You and Gaius will be there, I hope?"

"Absolutely, sire! How could we miss it?" the woman answers and smiles. "Now Merlin, you must make sure to eat regularly …"

"Yes, yes, I know," the warlock says with a sigh and roll of eyes, casing the woman to chuckle. "Honestly, Gaius is rubbing off on you! Really, one would think I'd never had a baby before."

Alice, as is apparently her name, pats his cheek. She doesn't look as if she were related by blood to the boy, but given how many surprises Uther had faced over the last few days, it wouldn't startle him (so much) if the woman really was the warlock's grandmother (she's looking incredibly well for her age though). Or at least his adopted grandmother. "We're all just caring about you, dear."

Uther really starts regretting coming here. So he puts down the over-filled late breakfast tray on the table and start backing out hoping they won't notice him, for once. But whenever has he ever been so lucky?

"George! There you are," Arthur says cheerily (though Uther doesn't miss the slight strain to his voice or the slightly narrowed eyes). Uther makes sure to avoid looking at the young King's face or at Merlin because he can't stop the mental images from rising and then his face heats up and really, this isn't how Uther planned on spending this day. Maybe Arthur will spare him the trouble of Destiny and whatnot and have him hung for the _incident_ this morning.

Alas, again he has no such luck.

"George, I need you to pick out some fine clothes for me. We have an important announcement to make," the King states proudly, resting a hand atop of the warlock's stomach and Uther stares at the hand and the bulge, realizing – _it's true, it's really true, ohmygod ...!_

"Oi, what about 'suspense'?" Merlin cuts in, elbowing the blonde though not ungently.

_"George_ would hardly tell the whole castle."

A very sharp warning look is sent his way and it's an eerie shadow of his own glare which Uther remembers practicing in front of the mirror on Monday mornings. He retaliates as is appropriate, which makes Arthur nod pleased in his direction.

"Well, I guess you're right," the warlock admits with a small sigh, smiling fondly. "Half the castle probably suspects anyway and they've already told the other half."

"See? Everything'll be fine. George is _reliable."_

Uther's pretty sure there's a warning underneath that: a warning of something dreadful and painful if he ever, ever let it slip that he's walked in on the King and his Consort, err - doing _that._ As if Uther would ever tell anyone. He's already become aware of the fact that nobody takes George the Servant seriously. Well, maybe Gaius ...

But no, not really. The old man just takes some pity on him, letting him stay there for time being. Must be the rumours of George's clumsy 'incidents' that makes the old man worry and let him be near, 'to keep an eye on him' (as if Uther needs _anyone_ to keep an eye on him!)

"Well, where's that finery?" Arthur demands loudly, cutting through Uther's train of thoughts. "Find it and bring it to me. We'll be in the Nursery."

Then he and the Warlock are gone along with the elderly woman and Uther is left alone in the spacious chambers, with no clue where the bloody Nursery is located. Or the finery. Or anything really.

He'll just have to improvise then.

()()()

"Get out of my way! Get out of my way!"

As per usual the hallways are crowded, mostly by servants and Uther speeds through them caring naught if one or two falls over nearly breaking their bones, or if those servants also drop whatever they're holding. It's not his fault. He's in a hurry. That is also not his fault. No, that's his son's fault since the man demanded he fine that finery and bring it to the Nursery.

Eventually he had, after digging through every wardrobe in the King's (Prince's) chambers, located some very fine clothing that would have to do. But after that came the next issue:

Where the hell is the Nursery?!

"Hey, watch it!" cries yet another person as he crashes into them. It's another servant, this one coming straight from the kitchen it seems. The boy is carrying a tray loaded with wine bottles and filled glasses, which is a very stupid idea - carrying those around. Uther would've told the boy exactly that if he hadn't crashed into him so violently that they both fall. The tray slips from the boy's hands.

Only thanks to his superior warrior senses which he has trained so many years manages Uther to catch it. Unfortunately, his senses have also diminished slightly, probably because of age – no, wait! No, it's not because of his current or any age. It's because he's in this stupid clumsy servant-body, that's why.

The wine bottles topple over and their content spills onto the nearest person. Which also happens to be a nobleman, surrounded by a group of knights and servants wearing another kind of livery than those of Camelot. A visiting noble.

And Uther just spilled a bottle of wine on him.

… _damn it all!_

The boy who originally carried the tray is quick to come to his feet and run but, alas, Uther is not as quick, and the nobleman's guard moves forward and grabs his arms shaking him like a disobedient puppy before he can escape them.

"Whaa- Let go of me!" No one, _no one,_ grabs the former King of Camelot in this manner. "Release me at once, you buffoons!"

The nobleman is evidently not very pleased about that.

A group of Knights of Camelot happen to pass by that moment. The visiting dignitary is swift to draw their attention.

"I demand this man is punished for this outrageous behaviour!" the squat red-faced man shrieks waving his hands around very animatedly. His servants struggle to keep out of the way of the rage and even the guards seem rattled, something unbecoming and Uther would've remarked on it were it not for the fact that the dignitary was angry with _him_.

The nearest knight bows good-naturedly. "Of course, my lord. Sir Lancelot will escort you up to the castle while we deal with the unruly servant."

'Unruly'! What an unjust insult!

"I am not _unruly_ or anything else which you imply-" Uther begins heatedly and the visiting nobleman cuts him off, completely aghast.

"You let your servants speak like this?! Wait until I let King Arthur know of this occurrence! You will _suffer_!"

The knight shuffles slightly, probably starting to get a bit anxious as well in case the nobleman decides he too should be 'punished'. "Err, not really. As earlier said, George is quite – unruly. He's fallen down the stairs countless times you see; it's probably damaged his head. He can't help it."

"I HAVE NOT DAMAGED MY HEAD!"

"Shut up, George, we're trying to save your backside here," mutters the guard holding him and Uther goes completely rigid.

What? They call this 'saving'? Uther would call this 'outing'! This is completely unfair! And the nobleman hasn't yet left or moved, meaning he'll probably stick around until he's completely sure that George is well and properly punished. The nobleman has a look on his face indicating he'd prefer the servant to be flogged or skinned alive and roasted on a spit.

Honestly, it was just a bit of wine! How could that hurt anybody?

The dignitary is now red like an overblown tomato in the face. It's a wonder he still can breathe. "I want him punished immediately!"

"Of course, my lord." The knight bows again (but it's slightly mocking and Uther hears the nobleman gnash his teeth). He then turns to the other armour men present. "I think he needs to learn some humility. Don't you, lads?"

Uther immediately recognizes that tone of voice and choice of wording. It's exactly what he'd done when he'd been young and what Arthur had done as Prince and what the Knights sometimes do as well when they're not otherwise busy. He digs his heels into the ground, refusing to be dragged off like a common _fool_.

The nobleman looks entirely too pleased to hear that, gathering up his wine-stained cloak and starting to walk away, led by sir Lancelot who keeps glancing over his shoulder worriedly which also worries Uther. When a knight starts doing things like that, it's bad. It's very bad indeed.

"NO, I _WILL NOT_ HAVE IT - RELEASE ME!"

The knights are relentless and strong and Uther curses his frail servantly body that does nothing but cause trouble.

"I'LL HAVE YOU PUNISHED FOR THIS!" he shouts, feeling a little bit of satisfaction about it since a King shouting threats like that must be threatening to anyone nea, but the knights just glance at him weirdly.

"He sounds pretty serious," the tall knight with giant biceps and no sleeves, says and frowns slightly. "What if…"

"Hardly!" exclaims the first knight. But then he falters and turns to the struggling Uther thoughtfully. "Unless of course he's magic. You wouldn't happen to be a sorcerer, would you, George?"

Now **that** is an insult Uther cannot take. Him, consorting with _magic_! It's bad enough that Camelot's got a magic Royal Consort and is overrun by druids and other magic folk!

"NEVER!"

"Oh, good then. Don't worry, this won't hurt you. Too much."

()()()

A carrot strikes him square in the forehead causing him to wince. Or he would've winced if not for the manacles and his aching back and legs and the wood holding him in place.

"I DEMAND YOU TO RELEASE ME!"

Nobody's listening. _Damn it all!_

In the background, observing the children throwing rotten vegetables at the servant in the stocks, are two knights clad in shining armour.

"I honestly don't see how this is going to work, Gwaine," says the tallest one to his companion, who looks absolutely gleeful. "He's still as loud and demanding as he was half an hour ago."

"Oh but you know, Percival, humility is a lesson hard learned."

"You know when King Arthur finds out he won't be very happy."

"Aw, come on, we're doing him a favor! I heard George served him and Merlin this morning. One of the scullery maids passing the corridor heard him yell a lot and the King yell back."

The tall knight's eyes widen. "Arthur _and_ Merlin?"

"Yes! D'you reckon he saw—"

"_Gwaine_!" the man admonishes, face going red. "We can't talk about that in the open street!"

"Oh, but behind closed doors it's fine?"

Uther can't help but overhear that last bit and his ears go stark red. Oh god, how can they speak of such things, about their King no less? _Oh god._

"You didn't complain during the meeting last night-"

"Gwaine!" sir Percival hisses more forcefully this time. "That's supposed to be a _secret_!"

"Secret how? I mean, half of Camelot's population has joined the Group," sir Gwaine continues and smirks.

Group? What Group? What kind of group has meetings that take place during the middle of night where they discuss Kings and their Consorts behind closed doors?

Unless…

Unless it's _that_ kind of Group.

A violent shudder works its way through Uther's body at this realization. Oh, how dearly he wishes his hands were free so he could tear at his hair! And preferably shortly afterwards steal one of the guards' swords and throw himself on it.

In the background sir Percival lets out a sigh - "Fair enough." - and his companion pats his back grinning like a loon.

"That's what we all want to hear, my friend."

He's had enough. He can listen no more to the knights' stupid gossip especially when they do so quite loudly in the open street, not hesitating to speak of their Group wherein they discuss Private Matters concerning the royal couple of Camelot. Nay, no father should be forced to hear it!

"ENOUGH!" he shouts loudly, hoping to gain anybody's attention and cut the knights off. He rattles the manacles around his wrists. "RELEASE ME AT ONCE!"

A tomato lands with a splash in his right eye.

"I SAID RELEASE ME!"

"You know, Gwaine, I hardly think 'a lesson on humility' is going to work on him," sir Percival remarks. An angry growl tears out of Uther's throat.

"I'LL HAVE YOU IN THE DUNGEONS FOR THIS! NAY, I SHALL BURN YOU ALL ON THE PYRES LIKE WITCHES! I SHALL HAVE YOU THROWN IN LAKES TO PROVE THAT YOU FLOAT LIKE WOOD BECAUSE YOU ARE WITCHES AND THEN I SHALL BURN YOU!"

A nearby group of salesmen turn to stare at him. A few of the peasants scattered about begins to draw away, including the cabbage-throwers. Uther lets out a sigh of relief. It worked! Or at least partly, because while he is no longer being pelted with Unmentionable Things the guards are still ignoring him and the two knights are still standing there talking like nothing's wrong.

"Oh, shut it George! You're scaring away everyone."

"THAT'S THE POINT, PEASANTS! NOW RELEASE ME!"

That very moment, there's the sound of hooves clattering against the pavement and Uther warily lifts his head, at least as far as he can, and immediately regrets it. Because there sits Arthur proud and regal on a warrior steed, and his whole family is there as well, the little ones staring curiously at the servant trapped in the stocks. Uther wishes he could sink into the ground and disappear. Oh, the humiliation! To have his own son see him in this state, and his grandchildren as well!

"What's all this shouting about?" the King asks raising an eyebrow in the prisoner's direction. (Gaius must've taught him to do that; how very traitorous of him!). "George, _again_?" Arthur sighs. "What's it this time?"

"Ah, good day, sires," sir Gwaine bows elegantly from the waist. "Well you see George here unfortunately caused grave injury to the visiting lord, err, what's his face-"

"Lord Dagonet," inserts sir Percival.

"Yes, him. Anyway, Lord Dagonet was gravely injured due to an accident caused by George …"

Uther takes a deep breath to prepare his defense: "THERE WAS NO ACCIDENT! AND HE WAS NOT INJURED! DAGONET IS A GIANT FOOL! HOW COULD SOME WINE HARM HIM?!"

The knight goes on without pause: "… And he fairly _insisted_ George must be punished, but we could hardly have him flogged... He needed to learn some humility. But sire, I am afraid he's scaring away everyone in the market with his shouting and that is not good for Camelot's business."

Arthur nods kingly, his giant golden crown bobbing up and down on his temple. It is a rather ridiculous crown, wherever did he get it from? Why isn't he using the old crown Uther used to have? Oh, the troublesome youth.

"Fair enough. Put him in the dungeons for time being, we need some peace and quiet. And fetch me Lord Dagonet, I need to speak with him."

Wait - what? The _dungeons?!_

"_Nooooo_…!"

()()()

The dungeons are cold and damp and nobody can hear his shouting, no matter how much he shakes the bars, except for the guards. And the guards decide to ignore him and play dice. When he demands their heads to be cut off and stomped upon and then crushed like bugs and then burned on the stake (all in that order), they don't even _twitch._

Who the hell chose those useless guards to be on duty?!

Oh, if not for that Lord! If that nobleman hadn't been standing at that exact spot in the corridor the exact moment Uther passed by, nothing would've happened and he would never had to be forced to endure this torture.

_Lord Dagonet..._ Uther thinks darkly. _You shall pay for this ... Oh yes, I promise you: I will have my revenge sooner or later ..._

()()()

When Uther finds himself released from the dungeons several weary hours later, he realizes, aghast, he still hasn't brought that finery to his son - his son whom is about to make a Very Important Announcement any moment now. The fine pieces of clothing had been ripped from his hands and probably been carried back to the King's rooms when he'd been arrested. That means, he has to go back and then find the Nursery, wherever that is … and he has less than five minutes to do so, or else he'll probably be stuck in the stocks again. An experience Uther Pendragon swears he will never – I repeat: _never_ – go through again.

Without hesitating he dashes down the halls toward Arthur's rooms. Running is very awkward – he hasn't run or dashed or anything for years, it feels like, not since he was about Arthur's age. Kings don't run like panicked servants. No, they walk steadily and headfast, with sparkling jewelry and long cloaks billowing behind them to show just how calm and powerful and awesome they are.

Oh, how dearly he misses his beloved crown!

Two minutes left. A shortcut is logically the best way right now. Being the former King of Camelot he knows ever crook of the citadel, and he picks the first hidden passage he finds, in an alcove near the laundress' quarters. This tunnel will open up in a corridor a hundred feet to the east, that'll take approximately thirty-five seconds – only one minute to go now! – and then he has to cross the courtyard …

Much to Uther's dismay, he is too late.

Arthur's voice rings out across the courtyard, strong and powerful.

But thankfully, someone else in his absence – but that absence was not at all his fault! It's all because of the stupid Lord Dagonet and the wine – had brought Arthur his fine clothes and he and his family look perfectly presentable; every inch the royalty they are.

"People of Camelot, I, Arthur Pendragon, am proud to announce that we shall soon have an addition to the royal household."

Excited whoops and applauds echo between the tall walls that surround the large yard where a huge mass of people have gathered. The King of Camelot stands on the balcony above with his family; the Royal Consort's face appears aglow with happiness. Nearby, acting as bodyguards, stands several Knights of the Round Table. One in particular is very excited, waving a red and gold flag with the Pendragon insignia on it.

Said knight's yelling of "Go Princess!" reaches Uther's ears and blood rushes up to his neck with embarrassment at such a bold … _statement_ where anybody could hear.

Seriously, nobody around this castle have any sense of propriety anymore!

()()()

Night begins to fall over the city and Uther drags himself to Gaius' chambers, hoping there'll be a meal waiting for him. Surely there'll be? Of course there must! Gaius must be used to serving food every night for two given his ward lived with him before. Yes. If there is not food, then he'll order the old man to go to the kitchens and fetch some – it's simply fair since Uther's worked so hard all day, dealing with awkward mornings and stuck-up selfish Lords and having rotten fruit pelted at him – oh, what has he _ever_ done to deserve all this?

He's just reached the door and laid a hand on the knob, when…

"_Hey you! Uther! Hey, I'm talking to you!"_

He reacts at once, startled; swirling around grabbing for his sword which should be at his belt but isn't because servants don't carry around swords. _Stupid servant-body!_

Then he realizes nobody's there. The voice was in his _head_. Which means…

"_Not __**you**__!"_

There's a dry chuckle. _"I think it's time we talk face-to-face, Pendragon. There's a clearing five miles northeast of the city. Meet me there in an hour."_

"_Don't order me around like that, senseless lizard!"_

"_Would you prefer me fetching you instead?"_

An image enters his mind of a giant dragon (what colour or markings it has however is vague since he's never actually seen this dragon) sweeping down over the Camelot, people running around screaming and roofs catching fire; then the guards rushing out to arrest him and King Arthur sending him a Gaius-styled eyebrow-look. And then how he's thrown into the dungeons for letting a dragon create havoc on the city.

Letting the dragon come and go as it wish probably isn't a good idea.

"…_Fine. I'll go. But know I'd have you chained in a cave if I could!"_

"_But you can't,"_ the dragon says smugly and Uther can almost picture its smirk. _"An hour. I'm not that patient though. Could you bother bringing me something to eat? Not a sheep though. They're nasty; the wool gets stuck between my teeth all the time. A cow would be fine."_

Uther blanches. Not only must he sneak past the guards to get out the city without raising any suspicion, and somehow get his hands on a transport – now the dragon wants him to steal a cow as well!

"_There's my limit! I __**will not**__ do it!"_

"_A pity,"_ the creature sighs. "_Very well, I guess I should be glad you agree coming to me at all."_

()()()

The clearing isn't that hard to find. Uther has, after all, been a warrior and hunter in his youth, once when he was Prince. Back then, hunting had been his favourite pastime (next to sneaking into the young Princess Lyonesse's room whenever she was visiting Camelot with her father to take the heads off her dolls) and so he easily locates a path leading straight northeast; the woods are quickly growing dark and Uther is glad he brought a torch.

When he arrives the clearing is already occupied by a creature with bright white scales. It unrolls its tail and lifts his head to study him wordlessly.

Uther _stares_.

"You're…you're…"

"What?!" the dragon demands impatiently, tail swishing back and forth and thin tendrils of smoke rising from its nostrils.

"You're so … _small_."

"I am _anything but_!" the creature protests. "I am a whole six years old!"

Uther glares at it. "I won't have this; not only have I been brought back from the dead, now I'm expected to obey the words of a _hatchling_. Nay, the deal's off. I'm going."

He moves to mount the horse, grabbing the reins. But suddenly a shadow looms over him and the next moment something grabs his collar and he finds himself thrown back onto the ground.

The dragon growls, its face very, very close to his own. Uther begins to fear for the sake of his eyebrows; having none is never in fashion and he doesn't want the dragon to burn his off because of its nearness. "_Never_, ever call me a hatchling!"

"I'M NEARLY TEN TIMES YOUR SENIOR! I REFUSE TO TAKE ORDERS FROM YOU!"

"I AM NOT A HATCHLING!"

"HATCHLING!"

The massive _roar_ of the dragon drowns him. A large black cloud of smoke billows over him, blinding him completely; Uther drops the torch and waves his hands around wildly trying to clear the air. He chokes and coughs violently.

Once the smoke finally rises and he can breathe again, he turns to the creature, which has backed away slightly and now looks smug. Probably pleased for almost killing him. If only he had a sword…!

"I'll have your head for that!"

"I'd like to see you _try_!"

It is clearly doomed to escalate from there.

()()()

The physician sends him an unimpressed look as he returns covered from head to toe in black dust, his hair ruffled and clothes askew, at an hour when most citizens have been to bed for a long while.

"Whatever has happened this time, George?" Gaius asks. "_Please_ do not tell me you fell down the stairs."

Uther barely manages to contain a shudder when the Eyebrow is raised in his direction. "I – fire – kitchen. Yes, that is it. There was a fire in the kitchen. Which I so heroically stopped. Yes. That's it. Now stop bothering me, old man!"

He thunders past, up to the adjourning chamber and collapses on the mattress. Finally he can have some well-deserved sleep and for a few hours forget about this whole mess. What he wouldn't do to escape it all…!

The old man shakes his head, muttering to himself as he turns back to the cauldron where he's boiling some malodorous medicine. "Young people these days…"

()()()

_**Author's note**__: Dagonet and Lyonesse are mentioned in the original Arthurian legends; however I've probably given them completely the wrong roles. Other Arthurian characters will appear in this story and if they aren't familiar beforehand I'll explain them as they come along. But I'll try not to 'invent' any new characters; rather I prefer taking them out of the classical legends._

_You may also have noticed that Aithusa is male here. This is because as I saw the episode 'Aithusa' I first assumed the white dragon to be male, and only later heard of it being female. I've kept it this way._


	4. How to Handle Old Acquaintances

_**Author's note: **__Hello and a happy new year! It's been awhile, I know. However I have written a couple of chapters ahead, en masse, so even if I might not be able to write continuously I hope to be able to update anyway…at least for some time. Thank you everyone who has taken time to read this fic and every reviewer! I'm sorry this chapter is so short._

_This chapter contains a hint to episode one/two of season 5 (see if you can find it!), but I haven't seen much of season 5 yet, not just because I'm living in Sweden and can't get direct access to it all at once, but also because I'm dreading the end. I really cannot bear ends. When a book or series or film that I like end, I usually have to find a nearby shoulder to cry my heart out on. I'm hopeless like that. Thus, I'm tending to avoid the endings for as long as possible. But this also means I can't really use tumblr or read fics as freely as I wish to because of all the spoilers. Oh, woe is me! (or something like that). I really don't know if I want to watch season 5 yet or not …_

_On a completely unrelated note, has anyone seen the first Hobbit movie yet? One word: epic! (Have watched it twice now). I can't wait for the second part!_

_Sorry for the rambling. Onto the story!_

()()()

**Chapter 4:** **How to Handle Old Acquaintances**

()()()

The tall doors to the throne opened to reveal a royal entourage; not overly large, to avoid appearing hostile, but not too modest either. The Queen of Carleon had never shied away and her power is absolute. Just like all of her kinsmen she has a strong passion for furs and today she has a large red one draped over her shoulders, and her dress is made partially from leather. Uther spots a dagger (or two or rather three) in her belt. Ah, prepared for battle as usual. At least _some_ things never change.

Arthur and Merlin rise in perfect synch from their twin thrones to greet her. The blonde King grins broadly – a sight which makes Uther blink.

He had rarely, if ever, greeted a visiting noble with such an honest smile. With the exception for King Olaf, of course, before his daughter and Arthur attempted to…

Well, that was a long time ago, and things had changed. Besides he wasn't aware that Arthur knew Queen Annis that well – last time Uther had met her and her husband (where was that man anyway?) it had been because of a minor squabble eight or ten years ago, hardly worthy of mentioning. Arthur had been there but not had a major role; standing in the background looking a proper prince. That was how Uther had learned that the Queen had a fairly sharp tongue.

Oh yes, fair enough, he _had_ ordered a large patrol over her boarders but really he hadn't meant to _attack _… really. Or burn down that village and plunder it. Or lead her troops into that fight …

Well … maybe a little bit.

"Ah! Queen Annis. It's a pleasure to finally have you here! Welcome, welcome."

"And I find it most pleasurable to be here, King Arthur," the Queen responds nodding her head in respect. "It has been too long."

"'Tis a pity we cannot cross paths more often."

"Indeed it is."

Annis then turns to Merlin and greets him as well, without surprise or malice of a peasant being on a throne – so she must have visited before, Uther concludes. Neither does the Queen raise an eyebrow, at least a physical eyebrow (Uther can't be sure about what she's really thinking), when seeing the prominent bulging belly that the warlock is resting one of his hands on contently. "Oh! I must congratulate," she says smoothly and smiles. "Your marriage has truly proven to be fruitful."

It's the most honest smile Uther's ever seen on the Queen of Caerleon – she can be so ruthless sometimes; she probably spends a lot of time with the knights training with the sword and the spear and can be just as lethal as her soldiers. Therefore Uther has rarely seen her smile, unless they are the product of sarcasm. But this smile is honest, true and kind, and then she says something about it being such a fruitful marriage and Uther stares at her because of the blatancy.

Arthur glows with pride (though Merlin glows even more). "Thank you, my lady," the warlock says dipping his head.

Oh … Queen Annis is _just_ as bad with her doting on the royal couple as the knight and other general population of Camelot, though she hides it a lot better. But Uther has a hunch that she might gather her maidservants in the evening to gossip about –

Nay, he shan't go there! No, no, no. For heaven's sake, he's Arthur's father! A father shouldn't have to ever think of his son's … relations in such a manner!

"When is the little one due?" Annis continues.

"In mid-September, our court physician reckons," Merlin answers.

The Queen looks around and notices the small figure clinging to the King's red cloak; she smiles gently at them when a tiny dark head peeks out to peer at her curiously. "And this must be the little Princess! I am sorry I have not had the opportunity to see you earlier and welcome this little girl when she was born."

"Do not worry, my lady," Arthur says smoothly. "Being a Queen or King is a quite busy life. I understand completely."

Merlin nudges the girl forward, but while she is revealed the little one refuses to let go of her father, her hands forming small fists around his cloak. "May I present Princess Elaine. She was born a little over two years ago."

The Queen bows down to be more at level with the child as she introduces herself, smiling as not to intimidate the girl, for she is still armed and to a two-year-old all that fur and leather may appear frightening. "Hello, little one. I am Queen Annis; you may call me Aunt though."

"Say hello to the nice lady," Merlin murmurs gently.

The girl looks at her for a moment, and then breaks into a toothy grin. Still, she remains too shy or simply determined not to make a sound, though a small giggle escapes her. Arthur looks very pleased indeed. "She appears fond of you already, Annis! She's usually so shy around others."

"Then I am glad. I shall look forward to spending more time with your family, my lord."

"Of course. I am sorry our son isn't here to greet you, but he shall be here shortly; he is having his lessons with our Genealogist, Geoffrey, you see. Now, enough with formalities! A feast will be held tonight for your honour, my lady."

She bows her head. "Thank you. So the Prince is learning his history?"

"Yes, though he seems to itch with want to start his archery lessons… _I_ remember not being so fond of sitting around books at his age."

"Indeed."

While the lady sounds amused, horror flashes over Merlin's face. "Archery? Whenever did you promise him _archery_ lessons?! We talked about that _three days ago_ –"

Abruptly the King goes pale. Ah, no ire like a warlock scorned, or something like that. Merlin isn't doing magic but it's not really necessary in Uther's opinion; he's quite intimidating anyway, eyes burning. "I, um, well I not really _promised_," Arthur stammers (except he doesn't because he's the King and Kings don't stammer). "But he's turning six soon and that's when I started learning using the bow and the sword –"

"Just because you did there's no reason for him to start learning such horrible things so early!" Merlin says firmly. "I don't want our son to learn to kill when he's just a _child_! For heaven's sake. Arthur!"

The hall is now very, very silent.

By now Arthur is squirming slightly, glancing around the hall as if searching for aid. Alas, the Queen of Carleon is simply staring on amused, a smirk on her face and the guards suddenly look the other way as if trying to avoid getting incinerated, and suddenly no knights are in sight. Uther thinks his son is old enough to handle a squabble on his own, thus he does not step in between the pair; a fight between lovers is only awkward to interrupt. It has nothing to do with the fact that the former King may find the Royal Consort slightly scary now when he's angry, given he's magic and everything.

Well, maybe a little bit.

"Um, Merlin my love, why don't we take this discussion to a more private place?"

The warlock however goes on, relentless and unforgiving: "I know how stubborn you can be – I haven't forgot how you gave him that pony last year as a birthday gift even if I told you not to! Will you ever listen to me, you prat?!"

"Uh …"

"And now you've gone ahead and is letting our boy have archery lessons without even _telling_ me about it beforehand!? _This_ is how you wanted me to find it out?"

"Er … I, I can explain …"

"Don't think for a moment that I haven't noticed you sneaking down to the blacksmith lately! What did you order from him? Arthur – don't look away from me!" The King gulps audibly. "What. Did. You. Order. From. Him?!"

Arthur now seems to be physically shrinking, sinking into the floor while the room darkens; the candles and torches flickering by some cold gusts of wind that wraps around every pillar and reaches every crevice in the stone. Long shadows are cast across the floor and Merlin towers above the King in a very dangerous manner, a golden gleam in his eyes.

Uther wonders if perhaps this is the moment he should make it for the door.

"Uh, just, just a new sword –"

"Oh and how convenient it's a dulled, child-sized sword that I found in the toy-box in the nursery this morning now, isn't it?!"

"Y-you saw that?"

"I AM YOUR HUSBAND AND I HAVE MAGIC, OF COURSE I SAW IT!"

_Right, time to go. _Uther inches toward the door, when suddenly a female voice booms across the hall and stops him.

"Your majesties," the Queen of Carleon cuts in, before any blood can be spilt. (Or at least any bans from the bedchamber can be made.) "I should like to retire to my chambers now. The journey here was long and has wearied me."

Suddenly the room takes up normal dimensions again, and light floods back through the windows. The shadows crawl back, and the wind falls silent. King Arthur sways on the spot slightly. Then he clears his throat, loudly, giving sideway glances at his husband. There's yet an angry shade of red lingering on the dark-haired man's cheeks, and his eyes are still aglow by some inner power.

Uther remains two steps away from the door. Just in case.

"_This isn't over_," Merlin whispers dangerously to his husband, before adopting a normal cheerful voice, turning to the Queen with a pleasant smile on his face.

"Of course, my lady. The servants shall show you the way."

Arthur's tongue still seems to be trapped in his throat.

_Pregnant people can be hazardous! God knows I experienced that during my marriage, but with magic involved, it's even worse!_ Uther thinks, shuddering with horror at the memories of Igraine's tantrums. Luckily those had never been regular or come often; hopefully Merlin's would be the same as hers. Though, he feels some pity for Arthur, especially since there's magic involved.

As the foreign royal entourage makes to turn and walk out of the hall, led by a number of servants to show them to theirs chambers, Uther realizes that this might be his one chance. He's not seen the Queen of Carleon in many days, and he's very curious how she and Arthur got such stable relations between their lands, and why she isn't frowning at the magic being done all-over the city, and lots of other things as well. He especially must ask about his grandchildren – maybe Annis could share some stories regarding them – and the joining of Arthur and Merlin, and lots of other things he still hasn't been given any details about.

"Annis – wait up! I must speak with you."

Turning on her heal, the Queen frowns at him. Right, he hasn't his own face or body – of course she doesn't recognize him. Stupid fate giving him this servantly body!

"Have I met you before, servant boy?" she asks sharply. Her guards and servants flock about her and aim quite dangerous looks at him. But for now Uther cannot bring himself to care, even if those guards are heavily armed and may, if finding him suspicious and a danger to their queen, attack him with their swords. For she just called him a _boy_. He, Uther Pendragon, former King of Camelot – a boy! And a _servant_ boy at that! Like he's some insolent brat!

Boy! How dare she call him a _boy?! _How utterly outrageous!

"Listen you, I am no _boy. _I am a _man _-"

Naturally Arthur chooses to appear that moment, kingly with his red cloak billowing behind him, Merlin at his side. The warlock gives Queen Annis an apologetic smile. "George is a good servant but can be a bit outspoken, and we apologize if he has bothered you, milady."

"Oh, do not worry, no harm was done," Annis says lightly and not at all as if she five seconds ago had been ready to brandish the knife in her belt. She's always been hasty like that.

All right, Uther admits, addressing her like that wasn't probably a great idea. Nor calling out cross the whole hall where lots of people are and wave his arms to catch her attention. Nor carrying a tray in those arms (because the guards may perceive trays as deadly weapons) and not even calling her by the correct title. Right, so he probably oughtn't have done any of this things, rather seek her out later, in private, to ask about the affairs of the state and how well she knows his son, and how come she's not at all surprised by the magic brooms sweeping the floors right now, et cetera et cetera. Still, all men make rushed mistakes sometimes. He can hardly be blamed!

"I am glad," Arthur says pleasantly. "Will you join us at dinner tonight?"

"Of course," the Queen says. "I do hope you have some entertainment. A juggles would be lovely. I have always held a certain liking to those."

By now the royals have turned their back to the servant (well, not really servant but they don't know that), deeply engrossed in their talk.

"Indeed milady," Merlin says, "I'll make sure one or two is magicked here at once."

"Oh! And there'll be the finest food and we'll make sure there'll be musicians available as well. A troupe just arrived; there's this wonderful fiddler –"

"Hey! LISTEN TO ME!"

Now Uther is starting to get _really_ frustrated; why does everybody first get angry with him and then ignore him completely?! That is a bad habit which really must be broken at once. "I really need to speak with you, An– _my Queen._" He clears his throat. "It's a matter of _great importance_."

Annis shares a look with Arthur. "Does the servant boy often use this tone as he speaks with nobility?"

"Well, mostly with everybody," the young King says rolling his eyes.

Uther cannot stop the growl from rising in his throat. "I resent that! That is an untrue statement!"

The hall falls silent. Everyone, from guard to noble, turns to look at them. One of the knights of Camelot – that one with ridiculous hair and white teeth that he likes to flash – coughs slightly.

The king-come-servant's face goes red like a tomato's. "Well, er. Yes. I admit, my lord," he says awkwardly, "that I sometimes can be somewhat, to an extent – entirely inadvertently of course! - _hasty_."

"Yeah, we don't want a repeat of the Dagonet incident," the knight says and causes a few snickers throughout the room.

The blush of humiliation deepens. "THAT WAS A TOTAL ACCIDENT! IT WAS NOT MY FAULT! YOU AS WELL AS I BLOODY WELL KNOW THAT!"

The knight holds his hands up, palms outward as a sign of peace. "Oi, calm down, buddy, calm down!"

"Why don't you, um, run down to the kitchens and help out there for a while?" suggests Merlin softly, and Arthur nods in agreement hastily, not hesitating a moment to approve his husband's advice. For if he doesn't, he may find himself banned from their bed or punished in some other equally horrible way for their earlier argument. "Yes, that is a very fine idea. They are very busy preparing for the feast tonight and could use an extra pair of hands."

Stupid, stupid servant body. Stupid destiny. Nobody listening to him as usual. Stupid –

"Well," the King sends him an impatient look, and Queen Annis raises an elegant eyebrow in the background. _Curse all these eyebrows!_ Uther thinks bitterly. _She's just as bad as Gaius. No wonder we always shared such long, pointless arguments._ "What are you standing there waiting for?"

()()()


	5. How to Handle Gossiping Knights

_**Author's note:**__ Hello everyone! So this update came a lot later than I'd wished it for, but I have been dreadfully busy. I've just started my last term at the gymnasium and there's so much to be done, I probably won't have a proper breather until summer break. Still I try to write from time to time, to be able to update. Please bear with me!_

_Thank everyone who have read, added this story to their favourites/alerts and/or reviewed!_

()()()

**Chapter 5: How to Handle Gossiping Knights and Discussions with Queens**

()()()

During her stay Queen Annis has been given residence in the eastern wing of the castle, Uther can perceive from the talk of the caste staff (though it'd taken some time given the amount of nonsense the servants churn; they _still_ seem to be unable to not mention the Pregnant Royal Consort at least once a day.)

That wouldn't be much of a problem, if not for the fact that is also the wing were the majority of the knights reside and there are a lot of other soldier and guards nearby. There's no guarantee but Uther has a feeling the Queen might not be that happy about yesterday and have him skewered on a sword or other deadly pointed object. Or at least severely injure him with one of her knives. Going to her right now is a risky business – but one he must undertake nonetheless.

Thus, mentally preparing himself for an attack, he arrives bright in the morning on the doorstep to the royal visitor's chambers and knocks loudly. In his hands rests a tray, hastily plucked from the kitchens, and he wears a perfect mask of indifference: like the perfect servant coming to serve Her Majesty's breakfast. No one spares him a second glance.

"Enter," calls a voice from within.

Right. Uther braces himself and opens the door, grinning wide – perhaps a friendlier, more open-minded manner will put Annis at ease.

"Ah! Annis, it's good to see you. Here, I brought some breakfast. You may think of it as a peace offering."

The queen is dressed in another equally leathery and furry dress today as yesterday, but with fewer weapons at her belt. This is after all a peaceful delegation.

"_You_," she says and sighs. "The insolent servant."

An angry grimace ruins any friendly, open-minded smile or other expression previously on Uther's face. The grip on the tray grows tight; his knuckles turning white. "I am not _insolent_! How dare you—"

"Look, servant boy, I know not what you want, but it seems you only wish for trouble. Get out now before my patience is tried."

"But it's **important**!"

"Is it vital to the safety of mine or this or any other Kingdom?"

"Er…" Uther pauses, thinks for a moment and then comes to the conclusion: "Not really."

"What about the people in general? Or is it someone in particular?"

"… Not really."

"Then seek an audience with King Arthur for your petty business – speak with one of the councilors! I am sure they'd be very willing to help, indeed," she says and coughs slightly.

Was that _irony_?

"That's not really it either," Uther says, stubbornly. "It's more of a business of _inquiry_; I have a few questions I believe you are best suited to answer, milady."

She raises an eyebrow. "Let's hear it then."

"Yes, about King Arthur and Merlin; how did-"

Abruptly she silences him, glaring, and her arms go up in a stopping motion. She shakes her head, a most displeased scowl on her face. "I will not discuss such matters with a servant boy! Especially one such as insolent as you-"

"I AM NOT INSOLENT!"

"- For your own best," continues Annis, "I would advise you not to approach me this way again. It may be misread. I believe my soldiers would be most displeased, and they do carry around swords for a cause."

Uther goes pale. They _wouldn't_!

Wait, maybe. Annis and her people are known for their ruthlessness, soft-hearted or not. He's not looking forward to being hacked to pieces just because some stupid soldier thinks he's about to take advantage or something else of their Queen, when all he wants is to ask a few questions!

What was that anyway, about her reaction with his question, which he'd not even been allowed to finish? He wasn't going to ask anything foul or nasty! Not _anything_ of the sort. Especially nothing intimate like –

"Oh."

At the sudden revelation, Uther's eyes widens comically. _Oh_. She thought he'd been about to ask about Arthur's and Merlin's – urhm – private activities which he nor anyone else should have any concerns about. He would _never_ do such a thing! Never! How could she even _think_ that?!

Said Queen is still staring him down harshly.

"Er, right. Ah, good day then, my lady." He bows shortly and hastily backs out of the room.

()()()

One good thing about being a servant – albeit, Uther finds it debatable if it's really a _good_ thing: after all, he's not exactly pleased with being forced to be a servant, especially one that no one takes seriously – but _one_ good thing, is that he can slip inside the council chambers through a back-door to observe his son's dealings with the court without anyone paying him any heed.

It's exactly what he's done today, after taking off from Queen Annis' rooms – he needed to be distracted, and avoid her. The best place for a servant to be when they wish to avoid any royal person is by spending time down in the kitchens, were royalty never are, logically. But the kitchens were so stressful and boring and he unequivocally _loathes_ chopping stupid vegetables! Why can't the cook do it herself?! Stupid vegetables. Stupid cook. Stupid lazy kitchen staff.

On top of it all the servants still haven't shut up: in fact, the confirmation of the baby rumours has made them completely _insufferable_. For his own sanity's sake Uther had to get away, and fast.

First he'd gone on a walk – it seemed a perfectly good idea at the time. He can inspect the city in more detail and observe the people's mood. Yes, that's a very good idea. Plus he can pass by the market and buy some food – proper _real_ food, with wine and turkey and grapes, not like that gruel that Gaius stubbornly keeps on serving every day.

But then he had passed by Sir Gwaine (one of those commoner-knights who holds a strong favour for apples and ale), Sir Percival (that tall, strong, usually quiet one who likes going around bare-armed. At least _this_ knight is an asset to his son's court!) and Sir Leon (another much more trustworthy man and advisor) in a corridor as they were headed for a meeting with King Arthur.

This is an incident which would change Uther's day completely.

Instead of evolving around taxes or other important things that concerns the Kingdom as a whole, the knights' conversation went much more like this:

"I am going to be the godfather this time."

"No – I am!"

"I am!"

"You're not! I should have the honours! First Lancelot, then Percival – it's _my_ turn!"

"But Gwaine, Leon's been here the longest so logically, it's his turn."

"I'm still their favourite uncle so clearly, I'm the best person out of us at handling children and thus the best candidate!"

"NO!"

"What if it's twins then? We could share, I take one and Leon the other. Or maybe it's more than twins! And think about the next ones that should come, I mean, it's logical at the rate they're at it ("Gwaine!" sir Leon inserts here, face red) and then we'd start distributing it, so that everyone around the Table has got a chance of being godparents! Oooh, that'd be _awesome_! Those little guys are so cute – imagine if there'd triplets or quadruples!"

(Uther _really_ wants to have a word with his son about what kind of men he lets be uncles and godfathers of his grandchildren.)

"Do you really believe His Majesty would agree to such an idea?" asks Sir Percival. He sounds surprisingly diplomatic given the size of his biceps.

"Of course! It's a brilliant plan. I mean, the whole idea of the Round Table is about equality and sharing," Sir Gwaine says and gestures widely, obviously quite passionate. "Fairness and fellowship and all that."

For a moment Sir Leon pauses, clearly not coming up with a good response to that. "Er. Yes. Well, that is true…"

"See! Makes perfect sense. So it's my turn."

"_It is not_!"

Even the most loyal Knights of the Kingdom appear to be neglecting their duties – or at least their duty of being _serious_ when walking down the castle halls where anyone might hear them. And since they aren't doing what ought to be, Uther concludes that the only way for him to get to know how things with Camelot _really_ are going, on a more political level, is by attending to the council meeting himself.

Despite it's in the form of a servant that everyone thinks is an idiot who likes joking about brass.

()()()

When entering the council chambers the first thing striking him is, naturally, the Table. Instead of his beloved mahogany piece of furniture, there's this incredibly huge, round table standing at the center of the room and all chairs look the same – even Arthur's despite him being King – except for the names beautifully carved on them. They seem to be sitting in no particular order: there's some Lord next to a Sir and then a couple of Ladies (Women in council! How very strange! Uther's never seen _anything_ like it) mixed in as well. Some seats don't have titles at all, just simple names, implying that _commoners_ might be sitting there. Commoners!

_Hmm, though, the name-tags are quite practical, _Uther reflects._ I don't have to remember what people's names are and can instead preoccupy my mind with more important facts._

Slightly more of a dozen people are seated around the table, but not all chairs are filled. It's a mix of younger men dressed in chainmail with large red cloaks draped over their shoulders, undoubtedly knights, and people of both genders wearing odd-looking robes with an alarming magical look about them, and elderly men (mainly with silvery beards) that can only be steady, reliable councilors. Gaius is also present, as well as an elderly woman with a braid down her back sitting right next to her.

To his horror, Queen Annis is there as well, like the honored visitor she is. She sees him enter out of the corner of her eye and raises an eyebrow just so slightly. Uther flushes and hastily retreats – err, moves out of her line of sight. But surprisingly she does not stand up or speak, does not loudly demand his removal from the chamber or anything else as drastic, something which is relieving. If she had, this whole plan would've turned upside-down.

On Arthur's right, Merlin is sitting. At the moment the King is smiling lovingly at his Consort and the warlock looks very content, one hand resting on the bulge of his stomach.

_Indeed it's rather large a bulge … He's not __**that**__ far along, so maybe there lies some truth in sir Gwaine's hopes of twins,_ Uther thinks briefly and can't help but feel rather excited about the idea himself – of course he swiftly dismisses this, he has more important things to focus on right now than grandchildren.

Yes. Honestly. He must _focus_ now. No giddy excitement … Even if the wee ones are so adora—

No, no, **focus**!

He finds a quiet corner near one of the large pillars, from which he can observe the room; apart from the council, there are also a few guards nearby, standing by the doors. No one bats an eye at him, not finding it odd to have a servant there. For possibly the first time ever Uther feels (slightly) grateful for being in this unfortunate body.

The warlock's other hand is entwined with his husband's. They are staring intensely at one another, conversing softly almost as if they were having a private moment and weren't being watched by half the council. A few of them can't hide their smiles or open looks of adoration, much to Uther's annoyance.

Uther recognizes one of the robed men as Gilli, who is both a court sorcerer and some kind of servant of Merlin's, but the man almost exclusively uses magic to do his chores so he spends most of his time accompanying the Royal Consort like a bodyguard instead of like an actual servant. He's seen the two walk in the gardens many times enough to know. Uther finds this slightly unnerving; for his son's spouse to be alone with a man like that …

Fortunately the two seem to a have a completely platonic friendship. Fortunately - because if anyone ever dares to act _too_ close to his son-in-law Uther would wring their neck, swiftly and without hesitation. Of course, Uther would never admit this out loud. People would start thinking he was growing soft or getting attached to the boy or something – which he _isn't_!

On Arthur's left sits sir Lancelot. Sir Leon takes seat next to Merlin, Sir Percival across the table and Sir Gwaine – well, he seems to have wandered off for a while. Uther scowls: how very unmannered! This _is_ the King's court – one simply must be on time!

Said man comes barging in fifteen minutes later chewing on a green apple, exclaiming: "Sorry I'm late, sires, I had to get a snack first." He seems entirely unprepared as well, taking no notes with him unlike many of the others, who are now reading through notes from previous meetings – keeping themselves properly up-to-date - and mumbling among themselves.

King Arthur accepts the apology with a roll of eyes and a comment of, "As long as there's no pouches of ale hidden on your belt," causing the whole room to rumble with laughter, and Uther wonders how much of a daily occurrence this is.

The knight takes seat with a glamorous flicker of his hair. "So what's on the agenda today, milord?"

"The scouts returned earlier this morning," Arthur says and immediately a grave shadow falls over the council. Uther frowns darkly. Why hasn't he been told anything of this earlier?!

Then he remembers – he's not King anymore, that's why. Argh, stupid destiny reincarnating him as a servant that won't be told important things beforehand!

"The rumours are true: Vortigen has allied with King Lot and they are assembling an army in the north. Queen Annis, our loyal ally, have just informed us of this."

"Hmpf. No surprises there."

_Lot was always a gullible fool and Vortigen always knew how to pick his allies ... regrettably, for us anyway, _Uther muses_. Hasn't he been hiding for like twelve, thirteen years up in a cave somewhere? Probably. The coward. Oh, why's he still around and I'm not? (Well sort of not.) How very __**unfair**__!_

All heads swirl toward the servant standing in the corner of the room. Uther stares back unwaveringly. Arthur sends him an inquiring gaze which is very odd to be at the receiving end off; before it was always the other way around.

"Do you have anything to say, George? I cannot recall you being invited to this meeting."

Merlin subtly (or maybe not, since Uther can clearly see it, the table in the way) elbows his husband's side. "Do not act like such a prat, Arthur," he hisses on his breath, and then addresses George – err, Uther – and the former King is surprised at how … royal and confident the former servant sounds, as if there really was noble blood in his veins and he wasn't born a peasant. "Please explain, George; you are allowed to speak."

Uther clears his throat. "King Lot is terribly naive. Clearly Cenred has his own devices and is going to betray him in the end, without sharing whatever profit he thinks he'll make. It's all a very obvious plan."

Many eyebrows rise at the servant's mysterious, sudden wisdom. Displeased at their reaction Uther frowns back at them: why do they have to look so surprised? Have they never heard a servant sprout words of perception before?

There goes Annis again, scowling at him in that disturbing manner as if he were some misbehaving child! Curling his lip, Uther glares back.

"Sire, I must say George has a point," Geoffrey of Monmouth (a very dependable man that Uther is happy to see is present. Or maybe not because now the old bat is ancient, nearing his first century now, just like Gaius and the two still sticks around so stubbornly; how unfair!) says thoughtfully. "Perhaps we could send a delegation to Lot's court and convince him of this thus have him on our side, and at least partly eliminate the threat? Sires, what are your opinions?"

"And if he doesn't listen we could always send a wyvern or two on him," adds sir Gwaine with a grin.

"Gwaine!" exclaims Merlin sounding upset (though Uther cannot fathom why, unless he's displeased with the knight's blatant wording which Uther would be as well: the man does not chose his words at _all_ like a knight should!). "I won't abuse my power like that!"

"Not abuse; _benefit_ rather, my Lord Emrys," answers the knight smugly.

Abruptly Uther chokes, and quickly fakes a small cough attack to hide his shock from the curious glances he receives.

_Emrys_?!

He's not ignorant; he's heard about the prophecies and feared them for a long, long time. He'd made sure to burn every book and every person mentioning those damn prophecies - yes, he'd fought it with all of his might, feeling secure that they wouldn't come to pass if nobody thought of them anymore. But now …

Magic is back; Arthur is a King that is warmly spoken of and has put a lot of land under himself, and he has a Warlock at his side – ruling together with Magic … Just like the prophecy said the Once and Future King one day would …

_Well …_

_That explains a whole damn lot._

"While we should not take such drastic measures at once, the idea itself is not terribly bad," admits Arthur, a pondering look on his face.

One of his hands is resting lightly on Merlin's arm and Uther has had enough time to get used to these common open displays of affection that he's not surprised. Still, it's not _appropriate _and also quite distracting for the rest of the men and women (perhaps _mostly_ the women) sitting at the table. Surely Arthur must realize this?

Uther needs to have a word with him as-soon-as-possible about proper court behaviour.

"Vortigen must have heard rumours of Kilgarrah and Aithusa, but he has not actually _seen_ them yet. They are a very viable threat and we must make him aware of this," continues the young King.

"I agree wholeheartedly, sire," says (Uther glances at the name etched on the back of the chair) Sir Kay.

"I am not certain it would actually deter him or Lot from attacking, sire," says one of the councilors hesitantly. He is … vaguely familiar. He's sitting on the far side of the table so Uther can't see the name on the back of his chair. Moving a bit to the side to get a better look at the man, Uther scrutinizes him with sharp narrowed eyes: dark cloak, gloves, no beard, slicked back dark hair … just _where_ had he seen him before?

"You must remember the last time he attacked Camelot," the man continues. "What if he has leagued with sorcerers wielding dark magic?"

"We have sorcerers of our own," Arthur says firmly, casting a protective and proud glance at his husband who looks entirely calm. Obviously the young King notices something about him that's upsetting him that Uther don't or maybe can't see, because Arthur starts rolling his thumb in soothing circles on the back of his lover's hand.

"But they're untrained and weak!" whines the councilor.

_Whines_! Like a child! Oh, Uther would _never_ tolerate this in _his_ council.

(Gilli glares at the councilor, most offended.)

And worse still, the man continues in the same aggravating tone: "The druids will not do violence; they would offer us no aid. The few sorcerers in Camelot who could actually fight are weak and petty. Meanwhile the only person who _might_ have _some_ kind of chance defending Camelot from magical attacks has been busy keeping the King's bed warm instead of-"

He's not allowed to finish the sentence, and perhaps he should be thankful for that.

Within a second Arthur is on his feet: eyes ablaze, his voice is rough and low and calm but underneath the surface there's a storm raging, wild and uncontrollable. On instinct, when seeing that look on his son's face – it's almost terrifying, the sheer _intensity_ of it – Uther takes a step forward as if to run up and soothe him. He barely stops himself in time; a servant can't just run to the King's side like that! Especially not when said King is armed with a sword and looks very, very ready to wield it.

Several others around the table, mainly knights, have done the same and Sir Leon's hand is very dangerously close to his sword.

"You will address my husband as you do me, as your **King**. If I hear you speak ill a _single_ time about him, I **will** have you banned from this Table and Camelot itself. Do I make myself clear?"

The man blanches, but remains silent. Arthur looks completely murderous. His knights are quiet and tense; even Queen Annis gives the man a warning glare, one which could have weakened anyone feeble-minded.

"Do I make myself clear, Lord Agravaine?"

Uther's eyes go as wide as saucers. _Agravaine!? Oh crap, what's he doing here? Hasn't Arthur read the reports about when I banned him twenty-five years ago because of his sneaky ways? Oh, I should have warned him! I need to have a word with Geoffrey about keeping the current King up-to-date!_

"Yes, sire, I understand perfectly. I apologize sincerely. It was a foolish thing to say." The man rises from his chair to bow to the King, hesitating far too long before giving Merlin a small bow as well.

"Indeed it was," growls Uther. Again everyone looks at him. Now he ignores them: he catches Agravaine's gaze, holding it firmly. As much as he's not that comfortable around the warlock, or when his son shows the boy affection in front of the whole court, still: he _is_ his son-in-law. How dare Agravaine say such things about the Pendragon family and in the middle of council no less? Where is his sense of respect, where is the man's honour?

"You should choose your words less foolishly, _Lord_ Agravaine." Were it not for the fine oak floor that would take damage at such an action and the sake of his own dignity, he'd have stepped up and spat at the man's feet. If only he'd had his true face and voice at this moment! _That_ would've shut Agravaine up.

"It's all right," Merlin cuts in, smoothly but there's a slight upset tremble to the edge of his voice that Uther doesn't quite like and evidently neither does Arthur, the King reaching out to grab his Consort's hand. Agravaine turns his ashen face to stare at the warlock in something alike astonishment. "I accept your apology, Lord Agravaine."

Arthur turns to the men who have remained standing, and they all look furious like wolves that are just about to pounce. "Gentlemen, please sit down."

Reluctantly they snap into motion, sitting stiffly. It doesn't go unnoticed to anybody how sir Gwaine places his bare sword across his knees or that sir Percival lets his hand rest on the handle of his weapon.

Unsurprisingly, Agravaine remains silent like a mouse for the remainder of the meeting.

()()()

The subject of the meeting changes over the next few hours from dragon hatchlings (there's a rumour of a dragon egg, a different one, having been found someplace south) to taxes (finally a sensible subject into which Uther can dive with passion and fervor!), and back to the original topic of a possible attack in the near future.

Apparently Vortigen's army isn't that strong number-wise and that's the reason he's allied with Lot. Still, Camelot outnumbers them both greatly. The risk is that both Kings have powerful sorcerers at their court. And while Merlin possesses some almighty powers (at least according to everyone at the table – Uther hasn't seen the boy actually do anything but a few tricks, and talk to those annoying dragons) and is backed up by several sorcerers, witches and warlocks at court and a large number of druids, there's the issue of Arthur (understandably) refusing to let Merlin participate in any kind of battle while pregnant.

Well, Uther is rather sure Arthur would protest to Merlin taking part in a fight no matter if he were pregnant or not; still, the warlock is carrying the King's child. To allow him to fight would be foolish indeed, Uther agrees.

This somehow leads to the topic of babies and names and – oh, godfathers.

"I propose that Gaius should have the honour," says sir Kay and receives many approving murmurs.

"But he's already grandpa!" exclaims someone else. Uther rolls his eyes when recognizing that the voice belongs to sir Gwaine. "Logically, someone else, for example _me_, is more befitting the role of -"

Suddenly, Merlin lets out a gasp as his hands fly to his stomach, cutting the man off in mid-sentence. "Oh!"

Arthur immediately springs into action and is at the warlock's side within two seconds. Everyone at the table stills, fear suddenly filling their eyes (with the exception of Agravaine) and silence falls upon them. A few start coming to their feet, including Gaius, who goes into fully alert worried-physician-mode.

"Merlin!"

The guards, having noticed the King's sudden distress, abandon their posts by the doors and rushes up the royal couple. Uther also inches closer, curious and at the same time fearful; it _is_ his grandchild resting inside the warlock's womb after all.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Arthur's face is filled with concern, eyes darkened with worry, and the knights hover by the edge of the blanket nervously, ready to fulfill any orders the King might give. "Merlin?!"

"No. No, I'm fine," the warlock assures him with a smile, relaxing. He takes Arthur's hand and guides it to his rounded belly. "The baby just kicked."

The knights release a collective sigh of relief, and return to their posts, and Uther doesn't miss the excited murmurs they share. Do _everyone_ in this damn castle gossip? He thought the knights and _councilors_ at least had enough common sense not to do such a thing, not on a council meeting when more important things should be discussed – like the possible attack from another kingdom! Have they _no_ sense of what to prioritize?!

Albeit Uther admits to himself, he has this strange urge to walk up to the pair and demand to be allowed to feel the warlock's stomach and greet his grandchild.

But. He's George now, not Uther Pendragon, and he's receiving enough odd looks as it is. But … the temptation is so great … so, so great, his skin itches and his hands twitch impatiently.

Ugh, must resist .._. must resist ..._

Geoffrey is furiously scribbling in his notebook. Probably putting a date and time to the precise moment when the next Pendragon made it first movements. That is after all a very important duty when you're the Royal Historian and Genealogist.

Uther bites his lip. He shouldn't – he can't – no, _no_ demanding. Not now. Not yet. It's not appropriate. Maybe later. He could blame it on being an odd whim; a sudden indulgence; George the Servant is after all an idiot. So people might not take offense or find it too strange, after all.

"Oh," Arthur gasps in wonder, then slight disappointment, a frown creasing his forehead as he presses his palm against Merlin's stomach. "I can't feel anything."

"They don't kick on command, you dollophead," the warlock says with a warm chuckle, his whole face glowing as he smiles.

Meanwhile sir Gwaine tries imitating a puppy which is _incredibly_ un-knightly. "Can I feel it? Please?"

"No!" barks the King sending him a glare. "You were late for this meeting; you will _not_ have any kind of rewards for that."

"But I gave you the epic idea to show Aithusa to Vortigen and frighten his pants off-"

"I said **no**!"

Merlin sighs and strokes his husband's arm. This calms the King down a bit and the man sinks back to his seat. Though one of his hands lingers on the warlock's stomach, just in case the baby decides to make itself known again. "Let us go back to the meeting."

()()()

Just as he's about to leave, an hour later as the meeting ends, the Queen of Carleon stops Uther by the wide doors, flanked by two guards with enormous arms - they could probably crush him without breaking a sweat. Any other servant would grow slightly worried at being neared by such company, but Uther is not any other servant, so he raises an eyebrow slightly indicating his head, without a word signaling (with some annoyance) 'What do you want?'

"I may have been at fault with you," Annis says without ado. "Let us agree to be on better terms with each other."

"I agree wholeheartedly, my lady," Uther says, and then - dignity be damned! – he bows to her. That seems to please her a little bit. A small smile rests on her lips.

"Then we are at peace. You managed to convince me, hard as it seems to believe, during the council. Of course, many servants are wise, but not many are yet as brazen as you."

Uther clears his throat, unsure whether that's a compliment or an insult. It may very well be the latter, wrapped up in some pretty package to lure him into a false sense of security. However, the guards don't step up to wring his neck when he replies; "Well, you are rather fierce yourself, my lady." (Which could also be taken either way.)

"Indeed. I believe I would enjoy hearing more of you, may it be so you only sprout wisdom once in a while and act boisterously the rest of the time, I think there is more than what the eye tells."

The former King feels a flush work up his neck. "_Boisterously_?!"

"If you would just keep your tone down and have your tantrums come less often, I believe people would find you a lot more agreeable," Annis says good-naturedly. "'Tis a pity your fuse is so short, otherwise I would suggest you come into my service. I haven't had a good jester working for me since Tauren. He was especially good at juggling."

Uther nods agreeably, then, as the words register, he abruptly stares at her wide-eyed, and his face goes dark. "Jester!?_ I_? **Never**!"

_How dare she … ?!_

_How dare she?!_

"I AM NOT SOME FOOL TO BE MADE FUN OF! I WAS ONCE ONE OF THE GREATEST MEN TO WALK THIS EARTH! I AM NOT SOME…SOME…COMEDIAN TO ENTERTAIN ANY COURT!"

The Queen sighs quietly to herself in resignation, and one of the guards murmur; "I fear he'd scare off any guests, milady."

()()()

The second time he's caught in a similar manner – except there are no guards, only a large magic sword at the belt of the man addressing him – Uther is trying to flee; no! not _flee_, just sneak inconspicuously away from the kitchens. The cook had deemed him useless when he'd nearly cut off his own fingers when preparing the onions, and chased him out of the smoky room with a ladle.

So he ended up here, in a relatively empty corridor, along which many sacks and barrels have been stacked there. His shoes are filled with dry grain, his feet itching horribly. But he dares not move to get rid of the itch, in case the cook picks up his trail. Alas! That this would be his doom – a plump lady armed with a wooden spoon!

On high alert, looking out for the fearsome woman, Uther then jumps when the voice reaches him. Or tries to, but bumps his head into the rounded wall of wood surrounding him.

"George, can I have a word with you? – And may I ask whatever are you hiding in this barrel for?"

"Certainly, son," Uther says pleasantly; finally has his son decided to speak to him directly and not like he's a fool! Then, he remembers. "I mean - _sire_."

Arthur doesn't comment on the slip, perhaps not noticing it, as oblivious as he sometimes (unfortunately) can be. He clears his throat, and awkwardly, Uther climbs out of the barrel, grain spilling everywhere.

"Um, I was. Checking the stores, you see, sire," he improvises quickly. "Because – yes Gaius, he told me they needed. Checking. Indeed, yes, that is it."

The young King nods, accepting it (albeit with a slight furrow to his brow). Then again, Camelot contains a number of curious figures, George being one of them, and the servant could hardly harm a should through his weird behaviour.

"Never mind the barrel. I have been searching for you for some time since the meeting. Your actions at council earlier today were … _startling_, to say the least, but not unwelcome. You expressed a sudden wisdom I certainly did not expect."

_Here we go again; he will surely call me a fool, then wish me good luck and wonder off leaving me some riddle to solve or another … My own son! Ai, what is this unfair world?_

"I would not mind your presence at the council in the future," Arthur continues, oblivious to the King-come-servant's inner turmoil. "In fact I believe the Table agrees with me."

That catches Uther off-guard. "The Table … agrees?" he asks dumbly. Because tables. Do not agree.

No, tables are tables and they stand quiet and do what they're supposed to do, i.e. being tables, not agreeing to people. How can an inanimate object agree to something? First off, it can't talk, telepathically or verbally or in any other manner. So how could they ever _agree _with anybody?!

"Yes," the King replies with a nod as if there's nothing strange with standing in a corridor talking to a servant covered in grain and telling him that tables henceforth make arguments. "Your name just appeared on one of the empty chairs."

"My name just app—_Oh_." Uther nearly rolls his eyes at his own obliviousness. "_Magic._ Naturally."

"Of course the Table is magic!" Arthur says good-naturedly and sends him a perplexed, somewhat amused look. "Actually, Kilgarrah gave me the advice to make it so and Merlin wove the enchantments when we first got our hands of the Table. Anyway, do you protest to this new duty, George? Your pay will be raised of course, and I shall speak with the Chief of Staff immediately so to arrange a more fitting schedule."

There's that name 'Kilgarrah' again… Wherever has he heard it before? Never mind, he can investigate the matter later; perhaps he could inquire Geoffrey about it. That is, if the old man yet has forgiven him for his demanding attitude upon the night he arrived.

"…Not at all! Sire. I certainly find it most adequate," Uther responds, very pleased indeed. Even if the Table is magic and the chairs are most probably magic and the Table makes decisions on its own. _Finally_ someone is realizing that he is more than just a servant and deserves better than being treated so! This also gives him the perfect opportunity to keep a better eye on his son and son-in-law and that fuzzy 'destiny' thing that the bloody dragon wants him to fulfill.

"Excellent. Now, why don't you join my family and I as we dine tonight? Queen Annis shall be there as well, naturally. It shall be a quiet thing … though I still need to find that juggle for Annis … Please do not refuse out of politeness; there'll be the finest wine and venison. You may eat as much as you like."

Indubitably Uther could never refuse such an offer, especially if there's wine and venison to be had. This might give him an opportunity to have a civilized word with both his son and Queen Annis, perhaps even his son-in-law – how strange it feels to think it! Son-in-law! He'd _never_ have thought …

"I accept, sire."

"Excellent! Go have a wash and make sure to be in the Hall at seven o'clock."

()()()


End file.
